I play the show. I can barely see the microphone. I feel a violence in my blood. My throat feels raw from singing through the alcohol, making my way through the crowd. I down the rest of the fifth in the bathroom stall, then head out in the rain.
I think I’m burning down. From the inside out.
I hail a cab from the dark night of my soul. Pay in cash, and ride back home alone. Roll the windows down. Let the city in.
We’re all born bloody. I’m still bloody. Conscience scarred from the sex and the money. I’m born bloody. Were all born bloody. Conscience scarred from the sex and the money
Someone talk to me. Please talk to me. I’m feeling lonelier than ever.
I move back in to the same house I grew up in. The same bed and sheets. I make plans to never make it out alive again. Talk to nobody for weeks.
Think somethings wrong with me. Really wrong with me.
Hello pain, my old friend, my old confidant, I left the key under the mat come in when you want and talk to me somebody talk to me
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