astaire.

this must be some type of anorexia
I can no longer fathom words
too much time
it takes
to think

something is wrong

this brilliant mind has stopped breathing
this must be some type of disconnect
burnout fold in
the edges are burning
the burns are creeping in from the outside
there isn't much time left
we creep like smoke in a vacuum
don't try to stop me from leaving this way