Numb to the Wrists

Numb to the wrists, executed with cutthroat callousness.
Precise timing like it's been harbored for weeks.
I talk in circles chewing on my lips,
Cement mixing in the head poured out into speech.


Can't we all just throw down our arms?
But sad songs always sound better.
Oh God, I guess I'm not that clever.
I'm not clever enough to glide over this.


The hostility chewed you up to rot from the inside out
You can't plug empty holes with empty words.
And now that sickness has spread through your mouth,
Your teeth begin to glisten with the foam of a ravenous curse.
The glow inside has begun to decay,
It blinks and hums and twinkles but into new hues of grey.
My heart is sinking fast like a wedding bouquet,
And all I wanted was to crown royalty.


Collisions all wrapped in grandiose tapestries,
Collectively introducing new forms of punishment,
Of new definitions of forgiveness and judgement.
Treat me like the wash, reused and made clean.
Ground those words into the dirt, make love into a battlecry.


But sad songs always do sound better,
And I guess I really am not that clever.