S.


You expect every word and thought
To roll off your skin like rain
But the words and thoughts are bullets
And we’re both in love with pain
You hurt me too you know?
And I wonder if you’re sorry
All that time spent self-inflicting
Did you not think I would worry?
So, tell me ONE thing: Am I nothing but a boat?
A tiny, fragile wooden box that can barely even float
Regardless of the circumstance
And a lifetime of self-destruction
I still wish one day it’d stop
That this fear would cease to function
But it just won’t and never will as a tiny wooden box
And how can I help you help yourself
If you keep changing all the locks?
In that stupid, empty house, the home you built is weak
Floods and broken fuses… but I’m not the one to speak
Because my body is my home
And each plank of wood is full of rot
Your body is much stronger
Mines been pulled so taught
In a mess of splintered wood held with fraying, broken rope
The sad thing is when I met you it actually gave me hope

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