holes in heads

Screaming again -

The same exact
hole in the head
It's still burning and crackling
little bursts of the memory
gaining in dreams that I'm
falling in

Chased out to frozen breath
I'm at rest in the winter ice
the spikes they dig at me bad
They want me back
And they'll come to collect

My god if I don't get myself rest
I'm of course gonna slip
And rip parts of myself off during
short little
secretive fits.

And quietly sit
And feel bad for myself

That's a promise.