If this is reality i don't wanna be a part anymore;

take me to a place where bones don't rattle
like tin cups against prison cell doors when you're alone
on your sofa questioning when the right time is to end it all.
A place where teeth don't grind like subway car
wheels when coming to a sudden stop.
My anxiety is swallowing me like a storm out at sea,
the saddest part is I'm letting it,
submitting to it's foul tongue like it will feed
instead of eat away at me until I'm rail thin
and no longer have the desire to eat,
because, why beat a dead horse?

Every coping mechanism I've created over the years
fails to keep my breathing even now,
my reflection screams failure and busy streets
look like exit signs. I don't want to live like this.
Getting high just to get by isn't cutting it anymore.
I keep trying to tell myself I'll be okay,
but the silver slivers and dashing headlights
are so enticing I don't know how long I'll last.