I used to tell myself these stories as a kid

My brain touches my skull repeatedly it never stops. I'm forced to use this prop as my body, but this imaginary clock wont stop running. I don't know where it's going with this. I don't think I made any sense, and I'm not going home yet because home is where you make it. I keep leaving them behind. Cast to drown in words and lines. Sleep is lost, so is my mind, and everything will be just fine if you get yours and I lose mine. Keeping to myself like planned seems to work better. Maybe not forever but for now its what I got.

It's the end of the line, it's the end of the page.

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