I managed to get away...
But I can't take off my skin
to shed the horror, the dread,
seems I'm still sweating fear.
The games the mind can play
-games it seems I'll never win-
bringing back the panic... The dead
and it is always crystal clear.
Though I survived... In a way
living tastes just like sin
couldn't heal... So I fled
but I'm stuck in the same gear.
( This is something I wrote for a character in a movie, sadly the project never took off, but t he experience was good. )
