Here's an ode to the things we can't control,
how they take hold of us, like fuel to our lust, gasoline in our guts.
Touch a spark and let the flames grow
If I tried to describe it, would you understand?
Or would you feign sympathy and wait for it to pass?
I never asked for this, maybe it's what I deserve.
Too weak to control it, left only to purge.
You never saw its true face,
So you couldn't see the fatigue.
Not so much that I needed sleep,
just how some things make you weak.
So you don't notice the blood until the knife is twisting
But I recall, in the emergency room with the curtains pulled,
how you said you knew, but you stopped.
And I don't need an answer for why.
I guess you learned not to pry.
My pain taught you to cut yourself off.
But I can't, and it hurts.
First it's clear, still cold in my throat, then my lips,
then it's black, like spitting up smoke from the fires in my lungs.
Then it comes, and it's thick and it's red and it comes and doesn't stop.
My insides all cut up, bleeding out.
That's how it feels, that's what it's like to give up.
And I've been giving up.
It's like I'm hardly alive.
Trudging through nothing to the other side.
There's no point; I'm sick of trying.
Thanks to justinxevers for these lyrics
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