Accepting what I cannot

Party hat

Why did we want to be the first to put a man on the moon

And show that through the imprint of a shoe

Now this flag looks apocalyptic

In a drug that is non addictive

I know a thing or two about stickers on brains

They never cared much for you but it is nowhere near fake

Make children to eat the virus

My generation tries to save their loved ones with a tablet and a stylus

I've got a curse with a really good vein

The joys of being stoned and chronically insane

Some of us chase a much different drug

I open the vein that my uncle shoots up

It is the the same because we share the same blood

Get in the boat there's going to be a flood

And Moses holds my mothers hand

Takes her to a different land

And it is the beauty the unknown wants to hoard

Only leaving their skeletons resting upon the shores

That was my mother not yours

Why did you take her from me I needed her more

This was no work of the sirens

The music remained beautiful until it was silenced

How do I tear apart the cancer

Knowing she still will not come back after

Body after body washed upon shore

Warnings of men with switchblades and open sores

If I keep swimming I will surely find out

That the consequences do not come from my mouth

That the consequences let out the most blood curdling of squeals

When I become the driver behind the wheel

That the consequences leave shit in biodegradable cloth

And I am not ready for the cost

Maybe I will never be ready to become a mom

Not when mine has already been lost

Do you see these reopened scars

She would have drowned being held in my arms

Like in which the tears that were shed after each and every bloodletting

So many it seems as if they are already forgetting

That I am sick and still covered in my own vomit

That there is still an old friend hanging from the rack in my closet

That I am not reliving I'm still there and I am stuck

And sometimes I see how I am going to die when I love

Lost in my own symbolisms and sayings

Tell my father it was never worth praying

I follow the path of the first fallen angel

Always questioning authority when I am told to be faithful

I worship no Gods but sometimes I ask to be fed

In the rooms in which I have been taken to bed

And sometimes I set said rooms on fire

Angry with my reflection for reminding me I am tired

I wish to be more than a whore or some wench

One day I want a ring and a shared bed

To wake someone up with the coffee I have brewed

With not a care put towards the days where I was traumatized or abused