turntomaterials
Continuing down a slipper slope, you barter your heart for one made of gold. Soon after, you realize a metal pump cannot beat, but it’s too late now and you admit defeat.
The lack of a steady pound in your chest, drives you insane and won’t let you rest. Awake or asleep, your world is dark black, and that’s when you feel your eyes turn to glass.
Your tongue’s a slick ruby, and your hair roots dissolve, flowers bloom on your scalp but you’d rather be bald. The small of your neck, and the small of your back, lose feel to the touch, and you want it back.
Slowly your skins caves in on itself, and your sole purpose becomes to maintain a real health. Not a living on wealth- to impress and to thrive, just some skin and some bones and the means to survive.
