wrapping my weak fingers around anything that allows a checkmark on my forehead.
ticks off my back scrambling
digging into the ones a few closer
thinking about it again ive never noticed clearly.
my eyes are useless, thanks to past and future and fear of only what isnt.
bland, stale, rotten.
that checkmark hasnt been there, no one has.
brains are worthless beside it all, you wont think of it again, screws set deep into the frame, they will never move again, not until the next demo, then all that was done counted for nothing, you always seem to forget that it never stops.