a collection of eclectic tendencies that stem from roundabout tragidies
and honestly i'm not sure if i'm a product of myself
or my insanity and learning the difference
means examining the parts of me
i'd rather not see and that's probably because i'm not a very good
seed and my roots never quite manage to grow properly
and there's always more water than soil and so i've got nowhere to stay
except on the ever-changing tide of my white lies and false smiles
so it's no wonder i keep falling into a state of decay but it's not like
i mean to
i mean i don't want to be like this
i don't want to fall apart all the time
and really there's nothing very appealing about dying
but i guess i feel the same way about being alive
and i'm writing to keep myself from bleeding because i made a promise
and you're not here to keep it
i guess i should have known better than to expect
anyone to really want to save me from myself
i've got landmines buried in my smile and every now and then
i hit the ground face first from the explosion and maybe i'm just going
to have to live the rest of my life upside down
to keep the blood from filling up my lungs
i keep telling myself there's no reason to die
but i can't find a reason to stay alive and i guess i'm just
checking my heigh to get the right coffin size and i keep losing weight
so that at least i can be cute for once in my life
or does it count if i'm already dead
what's the difference between a grave and a coffin
honestly the only thing i can see
is that coffins aren't free and i guess i've been buried in my chest
for so long that i should go ahead and get a tombstone
it's not like my heart could ever be a zombie
i'm too far gone for any sort of science to revive my broken mind
so maybe i'm not quite dead yet
but i'm certainly not alive