if you can’t save it kill it now drink in our dying air supply drag in a keg and drain it dry oh dont you think twice there wasn’t that nice

i won’t say what i mean

and we’re all better off

if you misunderstand me

honestly, it's more real

when i’m not all there mentally

i throw paint on the ground

and hit things accidentally

and the shapes 

i create

could mean nothing, or anything

when this could’ve been you, bundled in a line with thousands, one dark detail in an article no one really wants to read.

a story worse than fake, a story so true as to be incidental, black noise in the background, which is not the soft soothe of white noise, but somehow easier to drown out.

rattle the chains till it sounds like an orchestra fix up your cell till it feels like home get past how you’re never gonna get past anything make friends with your demons so you’re not alone

chew down your hope until you cant remember the taste take what you’re given and perch on your throne of old skulls of all those who tried to get through to you someday your ghost tries to chat up the bones

wake from a nightmare, wake up in your nightmare wake in your glass house, wake up throwing stones wake up half-convinced that you are the monster that you are the reason that you are alone

outside’s too bright, it is too brilliant all of it alien, all of it wrong scamper back to what you once called prison document details only to write songs

fear crawling up and down your throat like acid peeling the paint on the words you can summon limbs frozen stiff by the years of confinement hold down the doors, don’t let anyone come in

i dont know why i bother talking at you say we need to catch up but then we never do

its all bullshit when did we get like this its all bullshit i dont know what there’s left to miss

(…but i’ll still call you my best friend to my therapist yeah i’ll die with bad habits)

what do you really mean to me barely a memory of a years ago february and some back-and-forth poetry

what do you really mean to me we’ve been friends for a century that’s when we weren’t enemies but you had to remind me

suicide at our fingertips self harm on our wrists life was meaningless except for you except for this

but that’s bullshit you only talk when youre high or stressed and maybe that’s why i listened but i dont know you when youre not confessing

try to spark it, its just tmi i think its time to let this die i think its time to let this– or is that just me obsessing? –die, time to let this… fuck how depressing am i. maybe time to stop messing with all this set dressing just lie down and lie.

There's this picture in my head, but when the pencil strikes the blueprint vanishes, and I'm fumbling. I'm not sure how I sound, or how I want to. I never learned this in a first language. 

We're best kept under dreamy lighting, underwater, hazy and unreal. Slim lines scraping into something solid, I can't do that. I'm too squeamish for that kind of surgery, all those sharp yellow shock waves through everything. I keep wincing, keep looking away.

Here are the walls all around me, but I can renovate any time I want. The house snapping into place like a prison, I can't take that. I can't risk that. Feng shui's got nothing on me. I need everything just so.

And just so you know, this isn't about you. I don't want to say this as much as I want to say something.Which isn't to say I don't mean it, I always mean it. It's just later I change my mind so much I may as well have been lying. New light coloring everything, changing my tempo, turning me into whole different people, or the same one, fluctuating. The story behind this song is not the one I tell the papers, even if it's the one I meant to write.  

But enough of that, enough of this. Let's talk tachlis. Let's just talk. Except there's nothing left to say, anymore. Just swapping silences, just waiting for something to snap back into place again. It always fades quick as it comes.

I don't know what love is, and I don't like it. How it topples my rickety disposable house, turns it thick glass and inescapable. Come home and find a hundred men working, reassembling it into something I can't even recognize. So maybe it all comes back to control, but I am my mother's daughter after all, as much as I try to avoid it. Work so hard to slip the shell you're born in just to grow your own, and it's the same pattern, inverted.

Skip this song, I don't want to hear it anymore. Skip this song, I'm tired of singing. I wouldn't take a map if someone handed me one, but I’ve got exit strategies for every fork in the road. This is the code that shuts me down, restarts with factory settings. This is me panicking and boomeranging back where I came from, where I know the signs, foreign symbols crashing into something legible, something I can breathe through.

This is me a year later, creeping down that long-deserted road. Come back from the blue screen of death looking for you, and it's a ghost town. but I already knew that. A million yous speeding past, and I'm still standing. Still watching the dust settling over the fading tire tracks. Still treating every new inch like a precipice. 

a hundred thousand years too late to claim

when they rise up fully, we'll really be in trouble

underneath the ancient rubble, our shadows are the same

our excavated skeletons smiling

dried blood still bright as war paint on their teeth

here's to the countless coming dark nights where we slither from our new skins