A gun gives me an opportunity but my thoughts pull the trigger.
I walk the thin line between defiance and giving into surrender.
I constantly wonder why I feel this disconnection---aggression,
Why do I fear rejection if that's my own obsession?
The monster under my bed keeps me company at night,
Telling me I should grab that knife, hold it tight, stab it in my gut and then I can sleep right.
I can sleep tight, no dreams telling me that my friends want a rewrite,
No dreams telling me that someone is haunting next to my bedside
Waking up with no appetite only has the desire to break sh*t.
I know it ain't right to imagine a life where I ain't got no sight,
But the more my brain discovers the more it wants to just die--destroy lives.
Ripping my skin, gritting my teeth, wanting to bury everything beneath.
Pulling my nails out, gripping my sheets,
Pull it over my head and let it suffocate me.
Wish I had a choice in the matter to have these thoughts,
But the only opportunity I got is whether or not I will get shot.