Turn off the sound of my nightmare nothings,
k** the lights on my mud-soaked mornings.
Leave the sun down, I don’t want to get up,
could sleep forever but it’s never enough.
There are moments of balance before a nosedive,
of backwards clarity in suicide, or frailty in every life,
and none more than mine.
I’ve felt this for too long, and I can’t make it stop.
And I don’t see what you mean, I’m just trying to cope.
This is the best way I know.
And if you’ve seen what I’ve seen,
or if you’ve felt what I’ve felt, maybe you’d start to agree.
I’ve felt this for too long, and I can’t make it stop.
Just make it stop.