One of the more emotionally depraved things I've ever written. A sick "love song" to my own anxiety, my inability to rid myself of it, and my stockholm syndrome-like tendency to constantly return to it of my own volition.
lyrics
You call me
I answer
An obedient
Stepford smile
Quiet little tip-toe feed
Barefood across the kitchen tile
I can feel your presence on my back
I can feel my heart rate start to climb
As you entrench my thoughts
Just a little bit deeper than the last time
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