I want to make art yet my fingers
are hurting, I want to sing songs
I've already forgotten, I've been
thinking of impossible things, my
sight is a blurred reality nowadays.
But I'm losing it, it - this something
I've attached to my neck and called
my sanity, never once reacting at the
heart swinging from my wrist or the
crooked tooth catching on my lips.
There were moments of silence, of
fragile honesty we could never quite
hold close to our chests, a battle
had been raging from brain to tongue
and it was never truly won, never over.
It's aching, this corner of my soul
that rattles with its emptiness, and
I imagine an echo crawling through its
space, painting each wall with words
I've been tasting, hungry in waiting.
But I'm fucking tired, I'm burning up,
people can feel it, a blushing monster
wrapped in blue and I'll face them with
blood on my skin, no time for pretending,
I'd rather hear them fear me.
I won't say sorry, I've decided, I'm
still cleaning old wounds but I'm
laughing, I've chosen anger over this
sadness, at least today I'll breathe
easier, bruises I've collected on show.
Stop, now I won't let this fire die, I've
already said it, I'll let this flames consume
what I couldn't erase, all these scars
that cover up the fact that I'm alone,
laying down close to heaven and hell.
There's a vigor to this anger, and you feel it
every time I can't speak up correctly - when
my throat closes against enemy words,
they're weapons, open fire at myself and the
part of you that can't understand it.
'You're too young to be this bitter, so
resenting of your own mind and skin', but
there was never a chance to learn differently,
only following lines of past words and a future
too craddled in your storm to ever be mine.
I lay down, and I dream of a nothingness
that tastes so pure in the morning, its
feeling drags behind me all day and this time
I ache with a longing that can't be forgiven,
'you're too young' - another way to say I'll burn.