It's tipsy nights like these that I wonder if I'm worth anything at all
When the drinks hit my veins and I start to let myself be sad and self-depricating
The hours where that kind of thing feels like a warm welcome home
It's lonely nights like these where I plan my relapses
I get excited to think of all the damage I could do
Tearing through my flesh and good progress like a wolf ripping through meat
It's empty nights like these where I start to believe that none of it is real
That if living is this much of a jagged-edged puzzle then maybe I shouldn't be solving it
I wonder if it really is possible that I wasn't meant to exist, maybe that's why I feel so out of place
It's silent nights like these that the demanding voices are the loudest
When the air is still and the heart in my chest is beating harder than it ever has
And my brain is begging me to terminate its constant battle with itself
(If I killed myself would you promise not to miss me?
If I hurt myself would you promise not mourne me?
If I healed myself would you promise to still like me?
If I changed myself would you promise to still want me?)
