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Who am I addressing now?
It seems as though I'm only ever talking to myself
The mirrors there, but I don't see my face anywhere.
No matter how straight I stare
Even when there's nothing there,
Still talking like its everywhere.
I'm just stuck, on everything,
Everything that I let get to me.
Its controllable, but
It just slips and rolls,
All over these fingers,
And these clothes
Until its stains,
Become the new plain,
And not even the rain,
Can make it change.
What should have been an itch,
Became a rash
Im just living in whatever hit me last.
Letting the blow to the floor,
Keep me from moving anywhere,
Or keep me from moving anymore
Just letting the blow to the floor,
Keep me from moving anywhere and anymore
Painting a mural on myself
Not too smooth, not too rough.
It's the perfect landscape,
For what I can't let go of