I used to play a game where I'd try to see how much blood I could fill into one of my dads whiskey glasses, I never managed to fill it as much as I wanted to
I'm just always playing games, it gives meaning to my life somehow.

Sometimes I like to play with death
Death plays back quite well
More than others do in my life
Possibly I'm in lust with the thought of dying

I've always wanted to fall off a cliff
So maybe I could see if it felt the same as falling in love with him
And maybe now, how it felt to hit the rocks at the bottom to compare to the pain when he left

I've always wanted to shatter a mirror with my fists so I could feel how broken my mom felt before she died maybe the difference of impact would be like falling from a 5 story hotel and splatting on the ground

I kinda hoped after I took all those pills that day that I didn't come back from it
Death played a fair game
And so did the doctors
They all followed every rule, but me.

My father never really seemed to play much,
just handing me off to the next player at the soonest opportunity he got. Like the object of the game was to avoid my problems

My sister got out of the game a long time ago, she's just no longer a piece anymore
I scratched her out from the handbook so she wouldn't get hurt by the outcomes of playing

My mom always told me if I played the game right and I'd get what I wanted

I don't know anymore
I think I'm tired of playing