Sore eyes sewn shut to shun the sun's intentions unto me. There's nowhere left to run. There's nothing left to lose but a face covered in blisters and buried in the sand. A mask of dead skin and insects. Oceans exist in photographs. Escape's a laughing matter of fact I can't take back. My action's are spoken for.
I know not what I do. I can't be held to another summer spent stepping over skeletons and killing ants.
Should I break my neck to look in your direction? A new infection's setting in and I'm scratching it with your dirty fingernails, shedding my scales to set the dials straight.
Sore eyes sewn shut to shun the sun.
Sweat in my eyes.