Norma Jean

Your pale skin is a razor sharp wire so i place these scales over my eyes
Don't touch me. I'm sick. You whisper, but i hear only what i choose
Hello my good old friend, your hand pulls me back from that mire or will i look back and stare and wonder if she is way back there
Afterwards my mouth will be filled with graveland im left alone
You know that feeling of fear and desperation in the pit
of your stomach making you nauseous