It’s 3 am and they refuse to leave me

Nothing has been more afraid to lose me

I would break free and run again – but solace grips my wings, and tries to clip them

I have been running back and forth for so long, I am weary

Brandy run out faster

KingSized Rizla is no match for the beads of sweat that bolt me awake

Holding my head high is futile, they own me

Raising my hand in protest, I am forced face my stripes of war

I could grow my wings back and fly away,

But outside is made of spraying bullets and forced lay-away

I married them at 3a.m

I plan to kill them in their sleep, drown them with every liquor sip

I have brewed this poison for 1 month and 29 days.

But their lives are built on my back I am afraid I must die so they do too

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