You have
as many chances
as you allow yourself.
Take one of them to be better.

Numb, numb,
numb, numb,
numb, numb,
numb, numb,
numb, numb,
numb, numb,
numb, numb,
numb, numb.
You're just
a
number.

I'm often quite alone
in this room I claim my own.
There's moments I mustn't be,
but my doubt takes me to sea.
As I appear to be on edge,
my fingers dangling off the ledge...
I can't help but think:
I'm an anchor, I sink.

The ones
who pass me by
are the ones
I wish to give
all of my time.

If I love you
from afar,
I'll love you just right.
I can't touch you,
you're a light and
I will wither
beneath you.
I'm a museum;
You'll wonder around
and I might impress you,
but you'll always get bored.
Because I'm not
the real deal,
I'm just a collection
of the past.

I know you
******* hate me,
except when you were
hate-******* me.

I've accepted
my lonely death
awaits
and it's the only one
who will be at my wake.

Made my bed,
time to lie.
Don't laugh at me while I cry.

I'm afflicted
by all of my addictions
and my addictions
caused all of my inflictions.
There's never a touch
or a love
or a hug
to save me from
the inevitable.
The dark swirling
vortex
of my cortex
and the emptiness
in my chest
eats me from the inside out.
The chronic boredom
is a pest,
a tumor inside of my chest...
The **** oozes out
into my breaths
and suffocates me
until I say yes.