crâdle myself in myself while The (DI) people in my life fâll âpârt – i become so câught up in my expectâtion ând i become so hollow ând theeree âre pârts of me âll scâtteredd ând jumbled – like birds flyiing south i’m pulled âlong lines, in crowds, âlwâys â new home

every âche is The (DI) story without ân endiing thât’s written in â fever – every sore spot is â grâveyârd of sorts, âlone ând dusty – i love The (DI) detâils but now i don’t need The (DI) whole story, just reâd me The (DI) endiing

âre you goiing to be ok?

[end]