I wish I could paint you a picture because I don't have to right words to say this. It's calling me out again, like the very breath of life being drawn out of my body, set me in a trance and I promise to obey.

This story is getting so old, I can't begin to describe.
I'll keep you in my finest of dreams, my finest of dreams.

The burn in my chest and the sweat on my palms feel all too familiar.The buckle of my knees and the blood on your tongue. The gurgle in the pit of my stomach, the ache in my back, the hunger over the sugar highs. There are so many reasons but not one that makes sense.

There is nothing I can give you that you'd want to take. There is nothing I could do to make you turn around and see what you've done. There is nothing that will take away the acid in your eyes, the slur of your words, the feel of your skin, the sweat of your palms, the buckle of your knees, the blood on your tongue. Sometimes in my finest of dreams I can taste you I can almost feel you. I'm almost there but I'm too far to reach. I have done too much damage at once, but too little for you to care. I am so far away from where I need to go.

And baby if you're gonna starve, do it right,
do it all.

Call me superficial, but the burn in my gut is victory. The bones I feel under my skin, it's called triumph. Stop telling me to get a grip, I've gotten my grip, what have you done? How far have you gone? You've done nothing and gone no where.

How far will you go? Can't you see what you're doing to everyone?

Take me away please please please.