I swore under moonlight on nicotine and cloves that the pack of Blacks you smoke reflects the color of my soul and that my heart was too damn dark to be brought to light again.
Was I meant to die alone?
And then one night I thought that fear could fill me up.
The cold wet ground, the broken sound of breaking in and breaking windows to climb out of left nothing besides a bad dream behind my lids.
(We smoked the rest of Laura's cigarettes that she left on Eric's car floor before she drove home with Shep).
I lost my breath, I lost my head.
Oh, God, am I dead again?
But how hard is it to find something worth finding, to find something that's real to fill me up and make me feel again?
Am I talking to myself?
Is this detrimental to my health?
I forgot to leave, to love and breathe again.
Those goddam doctors will not get another dime.
And I'll get my life back together one panic attack at a time.
I'll kiss the sky and keep my insides on display.
There's no use hiding the hope pumping through my veins.
(I swore the end of my heart came when I ran to the water. I did not speak a word when he screamed my name in the dark night).
Maybe one day I'll find something that is worth finding.
Some light that will glow through my life and make me warm again, oh my God, it's so cold for this time of the year.