Brett Loveinger

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Brittle Tendons

Can feel the life slide down my body into mist
Try to grab the nirvana hidden inside
No faith was found except the dark churning cist
Peeling off the layer of death aside

Red lint scrubs from my body as haste
Grab onto a iron rail as it pierces deep
Sliding through it can smell another taste
Again it peels and the insomnia it sleeps

Poor myself in alcohol it soaks
Grab the flame from intellect traveling
Sliding slick into the mainstream it chokes
Again it peels and the insomnia it sleeps

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