numb

I am the glass of spilled milk on the table on the floor I'm on the road to feeling nothing feeling something at least that's what they tell me to do my stomach and its firework attitude nothing is the same they all turn their backs from what they want to say when what they really want to say is I am tired of this painful disguise exposition saying that i'm fine and its alright coz we all die in time I am your favorite only when I matter when it matters but more important things accordingly sorted into a chore but can't be anything more baby you are a nuisance everything's reminiscent explosive baby you are a new thing but not my saviour from this routine