I'm slowly rotting inside.
My body turns on itself, and I'm trapped inside of it. But the movement is an illusion.
The truth of the matter is, the dust is collecting, and I'm slowly rotting inside. Cold,
distant, unfeeling yet aching...
I'm reaching out, longing to bring this enemy to light, but the sunlight is already
resting on my face. I feel nothing. All I'm becoming is hollow eyes and a tired spirit.
All I am is a prisoner, looking out from a cage and surrounded by tourists throwing
I must get off of this dirty floor. I must rise. I must find Movement, Strength,
This is dying potential, wasting opportunity - I am my own worst enemy!
And I'm slowly rotting inside.