i've been drawing interstates over veins
cause all i want to do is get away from this place
but i can't find the strength in these legs
to rid myself of this hell that i've made
so what am i waiting for?
i know i don't deserve to be alone
but i've convinced myself otherwise my entire life
and now nothingness is my only home
all i've done for days is read Frost and Hemingway
and think about the way you'd breathe down the back of my neck
and all these fucking nights run together
this is not my life, it's a nightmare
i don't expect to make it out alive
but there's no sin worse than being
slaughtering myself by begging for love
i need to keep from destroying me
do beating hearts mean we're alive
and bleeding wounds mean we're aware?
because i know in the end
when my corpse is underground
this will all be forgotten