we dont choose how we feel but we choose how we feed it
and sometimes the pain gets addictive
and we feel like we need it
i cut open my heart
pour it in my words
and i bleed it
the fields of emotion are open
and i seed it
so the highs are to the sky
and the lows are buried under
lower than where people die

on my tombstone write "i shouldve spoke up."
or something along the lines of "he had enough."
because its like no matter how much i said
it was deeper than that
if it's a dog eat dog world
than im a cat
and even though i got nine lives
my final death is where my minds at
my feelings are eating me like a fat kid at lunch time
it seems like i’m always tripping over something that ain’t mine
and i’m always tryna get over something i can’t climb
always worried about ****
wasting my own godammed time