There are some shoes under my bed
but I cant recognise who’s there
and some skeletons in my closet
but I cant recognise who were
The earth rotates, just too fast for me
they all follow the circles
while I’m used to start over and over again
My room is empty, there’s no angel in my bed
something’s there, its not me
I could be only the body that’s agonizing in the closet
I let myself forget why am I there
because later ill wake up in the closet
fulfilled of blood, mine or not
and ill wash away it all
as I make a start, like everyday
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