i grip the pen 'cause the pen and bass are all i know
my knuckles turn white
i'm sick of this fight
so i let it go
i lose control
i loosen my grip
and the pen drops and breaks on the floor
black ink spreads in a convoluted circle
thick like blood
i take my bleeding beating heart back from the regretful grip of yours
i take it back, it was never yours.
i play the bass 'cause the bass is all i know
my fingertips turn red with pain then numb
then peel then flake then callus
the skin is dead
hanging by a thin flesh thread
but what about my head
WHAT ABOUT IT?
can't close the thoughts
can't cut them off
can't give in and can't give up
my instincts fight with your spoken words
the warmth i feel doesn't match what i heard
my hopeful distorted mind believes your eyes
and not your harsh spoken words
it's bullshit, what i heard
but it was yours
it is yours-
my bleeding beating heart
but if it's too heavy for your hands to hold
i'll keep it here
until you come for it
it's yours
for what it's worth
it's yours.
