Cut through the tension with a kitchen knife
Peel back the membrane flaps and slide like a volunteer fireman down my spine
A frozen sweat-shelled past self ripe to try
An exoskeleton of echoed whines and resonating lies
Half-dead, full battery
You’re nuts you’d be better off in a tree
Your dad went and stuffed his bags in an SUV and drove off into the sea
Last chance at subjectivity, making out with {redacted} again in a dream
Half-dead, full battеry
You’re nuts you’d be bettеr off in a fruitcake, sticking in my teeth
You think the air should stay motionless
Breath
Still sick, but not radically
Don’t know if you’ll ever really know what it meant to me
And if you said what I think you said I’m done that’s right I’m dead
Still keening profusely, and changed some words cause I’m ashamed of who I used to be
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