I'm making myself sick
always mean without meaning to be
repairing fatality with a stitch.
Made of tooth and claw
and violently scratching an itch.

Do you think deer on the highway
causing major collisions,
still get a heaven
are they afforded such visions?
Of paradise with no interruption
for a creature that brought on such destruction
but never meant to harm a living thing.

I'm floating away
and everything around me feels heavy
please tell me why
I'm always spoken to
before I am ready.
I want to be loved
can't seem to put in the work
bottled up my emotions,
here is my cork.
So many strange words and feelings
here is my quirk.
Give you my soul and my body
here is my hurt.