motions

paralyzed with possibility

gotta get me out of this mess

new york times best-seller

rehearsed conversation

meet me at the tip of the iceberg

and cut me out of my clamshell

tallow taste on a forked tongue

not my problem

hell is other people

damned to abject heads

i'll win the devil's favor

i'll wean myself off dread

reveal your underbelly

i'll hollow out your shell

i spiral in dark patterns

i'm so sick of

going through thе motions

i wanna be the new routinе

and i wanna kill the competition

and i wanna run like a machine

i wanna find another way out

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i am not a person

beyond my own success

beneath my chitin jacket

i wear no human flesh

i only want to eat you

i come with no pretense

i spiral in dark patterns

i'm so sick of

going through the motions

i wanna be the new routine

and i wanna blend into the background

and i wanna run like a machine

i wanna find

i wanna find

i wanna find

i wanna find

i wanna find