’thought I’d be used to this by now,
‘thought I’d be better at it.
But here I am for the second time,
sitting in a corner
giving in to the hollow screams.
etched to my hollow soul’s inseams.
‘Talk about it’, they say,
It’ll take away your pain.
But your voice is silenced by death,
taking with you the answers i’ll never get.
and their voices all the same.
Here I am for the second time,
Conflicted between looking for answers
in the bottom of empty bottles of gin,
or turning to faith in this world of sin.