No matter how early I get home at night - I find
myself laying in the same spot at 12am
Then 1am arrives and I’m having the same
thoughts
Penning the confusion out on paper
Toying with a shiny razor
There’s a buzz in my head that sounds a lot
like mourning and it doesn’t disappear until
morning
There’s a fire burning on my wrists but I love
the color red
When the sun steals a peak into my window
my flesh is swollen and warm
My eyes haven’t adjusted as yet and I beg for
the moon to return
I cry for 12am so I can self destruct at 1am
My mind is ruined so my wrists are ruined
My wrists are ruined so my sheets are ruined
There’s that buzz again
There’s the sun again
When you look at me — am I smiling or
screaming out in pain?