Scythe

[Verse]
The last six months have only been descending further and further into a litany of trepidation while the cure is within arm's reach but so unbearable to my narcissism
I lost my words again
Don’t try to to pretend
That what I say
Is what I intend to portray
The creases in the walls
They move because of my call
Artificial and as plastic as a doll
On the surface
I took my first hit
Penetrable and delicate
On the surface I took my last hit
I clench tight to the wheel
The rear view mirror blocked by death’s aura of teal
Looks at our last moments reel to reel
The loss of oxygen makes your skin resemble the color of plum
Envious to the degree that he wears our last moments as a pendulum
Fears the feeling of fear
Unknown that the omen is closer than near but can’t run away as the headlights shine on the deer