I'm sitting at a stop sign with my tongue tied & my brain fried,
oozy sunny-side-up on the pavement
they tell me "look at the bright side" as if the sun could talk,
but no, I'm shooting blanks
on a half-tank of chemical reuptake;
here's a mouthful of soap, keep your insides clean
stuff a drawer with hope for the rainy days;
'cause we worship the heat like we're trying to get cancer,
I'll spill from my lips what I don't want to eat,
and worship every dancer for a flaw that knows them better;
insert needles into inked-up skin, then burn out every letter,
we'll burn that bridge when we get there,
make it a public monument
picking pennies out of muddy boot-prints,
but fuck it, if the shoe fits
keep your luck in a jar so it can't run out like your bank account,
resuscitate me in a desert so I can get used to the drought;
& we've all got a cutscene we'd rather not talk about
so here's the uncensored take,
after I spoon-feed you the low-stakes version
(try not to choke)
this is every mistake on a half-tank of reuptake
try to fill up your plate while your bank goes for broke;
take it up a notch and watch me free-fall down the ropes
while you climb the ladder with 5 dead bodies and a sex tape,
call it a playdate with fate
& see how long the relapse takes
after your firewall fills with smoke.