become a statistic,
another number in the game
with those newborn chemicals routing through your veins
like trees shooting through your skin.

my knuckles bled for the loss of them
and the paint spilled across the canvas
like arguments that never found the end
broken moments pass
all on your own

i know it well
the taste of your mouth
and the pressure of your grasp
i know it well
the hatred you spout
the tranquil that never lasts

constellations of marks on the flesh
minutes come and hours mesh
between the sands of time we writhe
only to find our hope buried in our minds

it's been lack-luster lately
the sunshine doesn't warm you
the way it did in the summer
and the oceans still beg
for you to come out to see
what lingers at the bottom
of the deepest parts of the sea.

i could've lost myself to the tides,
but instead i found the blade
and the blood had to dry
before the knot was made

accept that you've lost him and
you're not getting him back, no
you never needed a man
to tell you where to go.