I’m aware that I’m unstable,
In every sense and way,
that I bring nothing to the table,
so it’s not something you have to say.
Cause I wake up every morning,
in a paralytic state,
with cautionary warnings,
willing my emotions wait.
My therapist says things,
like “post traumatic stress”,
trying to unwind the strings,
that’s a tangled ******* mess.
Stop giving me labels,
while I’m paying out your dimes,
if you can’t fix what’s broken,
then don’t waste my ******* time.
So let’s say I’m dishonest,
and I haven’t told the truth.
Let’s say I’m being modest,
about all my self abuse.
I’m a ******* contradiction,
and I’m lying to myself.
Wishing for a benediction,
while I pull whiskey off the shelf.
I battle with depression,
but that doesn’t mean a thing,
and answering your questions,
doesn’t suddenly give it wings.
You need to let me be,
and let me tell you why,
because there’s someone else inside me,
and he wants to watch me die.
He’s the one that breaks,
everything you fix,
and he’s the one that takes,
and gives those strings a mix.
The devil lives inside me,
and he likes what he found,
and he’ll scream like a banshee,
till I’m six feet under ground.
