Dysphoria

Grace

my head is a ghost town

it's been feeling like
scattered abandoned buildings
lately
I have been trying to leave some lights on like
beacons of flickering hope
but I think the electricity has been out
for such a long time
that I forgot what it even feels like
to be lit up

but

I don't want to sound like a sad story
I'm thinking now, that I shouldn't have told you
that I'd put a pistol to my temple if I thought
I could get away with it
because it makes me sound like a tragedy in
waiting
and I don't think I am
there isn't much in here but
wood that's morphed and
cracked, the way wood gets sometimes
after a long time
and I know, you would never forgive me
I know you'd probably try to
how can I be a better friend to you?

I've been thinking about how to undo my life
(I haven't been able to figure it out)
I probably shouldn't have been so honest
with you
about that
I shouldn't have taken you on such a morbid
tour of these empty streets but
I guess I wanted you to see the vacancy
before I packed up and left because
I've been a little tired of it
     and you said that was okay

if I'm going to be more honest I
have been craving a little bit of grace
I don't even know what that is-
but I like to imagine it's a violent sound
that it could actually snap my ribs right open
disrupt the quiet
like breaking water
to breathe
or breaking the surface of my own grave
     (I have been craving the surface of things)
because I feel like I've been buried under
or sunk
it's all the same, I guess

so my head is an evacuated town

some natural disaster was heading this way
and I guess everything living decided to
get out
and I've been left standing in the middle of
the wreckage
at the intersection
listening to my own echo
thinking about being a cut and run
because it seems like something I'd be good at

and I'd really like to be good at something
because I'm tired as hell of my own failure
     and you said that was okay