Two metalux bodies crawl.nScreaming fast, grinding slow.nCrows they feather in the sky, and crash into my one room ride.nLocked down, stuck in.nWhite cell, staring thru a window.nDirty glass streaks pictures of your face.nYou're looking down upon my formaldehyded state.nThere's nothing wrong with my head.nNothing wrong.nHere comes a bloody swinging sythe.nBlade is staring thru my neck.nCertain scent slicing by.nNow is it you coming back?nBlack cloud, white light, cold breath slithering around me.nI'm falling thru myself.nA plate glass ride.nBroken skin rings my neck.nThe metal tape rewinds.nThere's something wrong with my head.nOh no.