“I’m weak again, stay inside, hate everything.”
Well, hey, that’s our lot.
I’m already inside out.
Cut my wrists, slit my throat,
take this body and string it up.
And I’ll never hear what you said, because I’ll be fucking dead by then.
"Project myself into the air,
and float a weightless night.
It’s better than sitting heavy backed,
sending waves of anxious hate into the street,
trying to shut down the stop lights."