leaving you didn’t feel how I thought it would
someday maybe I’ll let go of this half assed serendipity
if I broke your heart I’m sorry but what else could I do
my hands are tied against this brick wall this music in my ears almost makes me think
that someday all my ends will be tied off
(in the meantime I will wait and unravel)
if you ask me what I want I won’t have an answer
if I tell you the truth there is some part of me (all of me) you’ll have to let go
tonight I will paint myself into the highway and try
to hold on to these silver strings that haunt me in the night
I am a mesh of fraying edges of threads unfurled
as I tumble through these stagnant streets their weavings come undone
you should know by now not to believe me
next time I tell you I met the sky leaving you tell me I’m full of it
leave me instead
because until I’m drowning in this deep blue horizon I know
I’ll never feel like it’s over
(I should know by now I’m not enough for this)
they say inside me is a swarm of locusts they talk about me like a tempest
(I should know by now this life is bitter and I’m too ragged
too much) I’m sorry if I broke your heart but what else could I do
tonight I will sit quiet
and the night will bear down upon me while I cut the calluses from my fingertips
these sheets are stained with blood my hands are numb and treacherous
maybe someday lightning strikes will cauterize my mouth and
tonight I will paint myself into my bed posts until I can let go
there’s a whole world outside and it’s vicious
you can say I loved you as long as it means I broke you too
I was born into scrambling hands too rough too tired to be untouched
as I stumble through these dying streets my insides come undone
(I should know by now I’m too rugged, too much
the wake of my body will tear this turf asunder)
I’m sorry if I broke your heart but what else could I do
maybe someday my acid tongue will cauterize you
maybe this low key atrophy will simmer long enough
to bring me full circle
you should know by now not to believe me
and I should know by now what’s real