To be perfectly clear …
I’m a nut case.
Not only a nut case, but a hard-luck case
Wrapped up nice and neat
With Saran wrap of mental maladies
And bubble wrapped with faulty perceptions
And you know what?
It’s fucking comfortable in this box.
Relaxed is a side effect of anxiety,
Like having an orgasm, you get tense
Then that sweet release that leaves you
Melting into the mattress, that’s what my “disorder” does to me.
And while you sit and you stare and you judge and you blame
I … smile and wipe the sweat and tears from my face.
So, to be perfectly clear.
I’m nothing but a beautifully taped box
Of stress, anger, resentment and depression
With a slight mixture of joy and pride mixed in
Waiting to be shipped off
To anyone, anywhere, away from that gaze
Of unrestrained disdain.
And so, again, to be ever so clear.
I’m what you’d call emotionally unavailable,
Damaged goods, as I’m sure you can see
The dents my last handlers left behind for me
To bash out to regain a sense of normalcy,
Then you had to come along and reveal them all again.
Thanks for that. And sorry, but the person you are trying
So desperately to reach is Unavailable.
To be perfectly clear.