you've bottled it all up again, dear
silence through the speakers
when i ask you how you're doing
i do think that you trust me
but i know you don't trust
yourself, not to break down again
and not to hurt yourself again
and not to forget how to breathe
because your lips only part
to utter another reason not to live
so i can understand why
sometimes existing is hard for you
though i do wish
you would uncork that bottle
holding your emotions hostage
the bitterness i can handle
i promise i won't even wince
when i swallow your raw truths;
burning shots of suicidal intention
chased with self-hatred
and probably a lot of regret
it's nothing i don't taste every day
when i drink from my own glass
if you would only let me in
you and i could drown our sorrows
together, and seek solutions
at the bottom of a different kind
of bottle, 'til we're blackout drunk
and so painfully honest
hiccuping accidental secrets
confessing nightmares,
of hospital beds and cemeteries
and a date set in stone
never have numbers been so
terrifying, and thrilling too
before either of us knows it
your bottle is empty, bone dry
you know which one i mean
'cause you exude relief
as you babble like a stream
you've mistaken me for a priest
or god, while you recount
your many countless sins
but none of it matters anyway
we're passed out and dreamless
beneath a starless sky
sleeping off our memories of
the night, probably for the best
because, as i'm sure you know
tomorrow the sun will rise
bleak behind a sheet of grey
and your stone-set date
your nightmarish numbers
loaded like a weapon
will find you
