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The Hills


ThePoet

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I'm anxious, and I'm weighed way down

Like I'm anchors, so I may stay around

But I've angered a goddamned many.

I've got me a handful of pills and I want to stand steady.

If I'm drugged up, will it heal me?

When I'm fucked up, that's the real me.

I've got a cup drunk up so I may stay sane

If I maintain aim for a brainwave change.

This pain ain't a game no more;

I won't pray to the name of an angel.

This pavement is making my face so sore

When I fall but I claim that I'm stable.

I can see rock-bottom if I raise my head.

The cottonmouth's blocking out the taste of the meds.

I've got fresh-pressed threads and I'm making the bed

Just in case that I wake and I'm dead.

 

I've got me a bottle and I drink it straight,

Until I drift away. I still wince at the taste

Like I think I'm brave, but I'm quick to escape.

I'm a little bit bitter; I exhibit limited range.

Give me a break: I've got a date with a grave and I'm late.

I'm basically a waste of space.

I've been vacant for days and oblique for a legion of weeks

As I seek for a reason to breathe.

This grief doesn't feed me; it eats me.

It keeps me awake in the evening.

Peace is an easement you need to believe in

And dream every day of achieving,

Albeit deceiving. Defenses are driven to death.

There's not a single minute that I didn't regret,

Or attempt to revisit or to wish to forget.

I'm on the precipice. I live on the edge.

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