Steep and Bleak
I found it necessary to get rid of some things
I don't usually argue with myself
so I cut some questioning pieces
those unnecessary chunks, you know?
but I think there's little left of me
I didn't have the naughtiness of this throwaway world
I never had the malleability of the insensitive
my soft and permeable heart dries up easy
dies if the shape of the clouds is not friendly
or feel the cold abandonment
when the roads are steep and bleak
when he hears the menacing rustle
of dark foliage hiding uneasy things
he imagines a block of pain that swells
I actually don't think I was ready
to the wild rage of this life
to these embarrassing final steps
at what point did i forget how to survive?
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