And squeeze, until the bed’s, completely red
I’m glad I’m dead, a worthless fuckin’ buddah head
The stress is buildin’ up, I can’t,
I can’t believe suicide’s on my fuckin’ mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is fuckin’ callin’ me”
I float through life blatantly expecting things to change. Numb in the mind and not always sure of the day. Memories of a past life, like I’ve become some other name.
Faded pupils disguising depths of imagination that could never leave a mind at ease. So the exhausted gut and darkened veins stay filled with liquor to retain the peace.
Multi-legged creatures scale my spine and leave me intertwined with tension- causing sickness and a stillness in my vision. It’s vivid.
These wars with boredom often leave me with less of who I used to be, hardly a grain of sand of dignity; these drugs may end up killing me.
I smile more than I used to, and that’s pride to me, but you just mock my teeth and shut me down to bring me right back into reality.
I don’t blame you. I’m kind of a dick to all of you, but yet I’ll die for nearly half of you. This is all I ask of you..
Please forgive me, my memory.