werewolves.

I was chewing on our memories, it was getting bitter. I spat it out and stuck it under the desk. But oh, it's stuck under it doesn't go way
And every time, I run my fingertips under the desk over it.

There are werewolves howling in my head, my dear.
They're howling in my head with echoes bouncing back. I see cracks, but nothing spills. You can't blame these werewolves, my head is ill. There is a man walking in my head, bony and slim. It's been so long, I almost forgot, Tim. He walks, and the werewolves follow him. Then he turns around, whips them with the fire in his eyes. Oh what a cruel service, I shouldn't have tried.

A probe appeared, blue and electric. It doesn't make me cry, it doesn't make me sick. Oh sick piece of memory, you shocked me. From the tip of my finger to the bend in my knee. They're still howling in my head, electric and blue storm. These memoirs rise from the dead, in cloudy forms.