GPS

We're kind of a broken people
You know?
Stealing screws from her or him to try and piece ourselves together.

Where we lie in bed
And tears dance on our faces
Our thoughts sparring in our heads,
Jerking our hormones this way and that.
Making us think to hang ourselves or pull the trigger, bang?

Take my hand, get lost with me.
Be my GPS, lead me to places where people will stop
stealing my screws.
Walk a bit slowly, I beg, for I barely have nothing left.

Reviews

[SquinklaPsyOps]

Is it something like thoughts can be traced to the first person that created them?