I can’t feel my body now A lost connection between how I feel and who I really am A feeling never ending I lie inside myself for hours In a deep sleep dreaming I float with the river flowers I suspect foul play above Hungry hands reaching down Taking another piece of me
We tend to be self-destructive And for what do we owe that to? For whom and what reasons, Do we rip these parts of ourselves, Trying to piece it in the oddest of places, when so glaringly obvious that they don't belong?
We cry endless oceans of tears Drowning in them, bizarrely, For our own indulgence! But at the same time, we're thrashing in the currents, Praying for dry land while also surrendering all hope.
We're all honestly just trying to survive another day, no?