Living Is A Problem When Everything Dies

[Colin Combover in a ComaParticipant 5081]

Laying so low
I never made the bed
The bed laid me

It was a slow blow
An inbred of apathy

Could sense it as a entity
Sparking the synapse

The suspense from it’s glow became
A sparkling relapse
That only I could see

Caressed where none dared penetrate
Pressed and suppressed
The shone that awaits

Is it a feeling that just I feel
Or is there another’s sun that I can steal

Lift me up higher
Shift me away
From this mire

Rewire

The problem inside
But the problem is

EVERYTHING DIES

[Author]

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