without a line

i'm sick and tired of being sick and tired
healing, bleeding, new skin for wounds again
closing to find deeper openings
wrecking identities of a shapeless face
tumbling like wet clothes in the dryer
the friction, knitted threads shred
in my stomach, can you feel it?
in your womb turning
am i all worn out?

turning..
turning..

sick and tired of being sick and tired
of turning.. turning..
there's no point of ending