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I don’t know who I am or why I’m still alive.
I took a walk about it and went a couple miles when I saw an ocean. My reflection said to wade on in. I stumbled around for hours and hours and then my feet reached the floor so I went a couple miles more. Attention, sex, and violence is what I need to survive. Don’t ask me who I am or why I'm still alive. I don’t know who I am or why I’m still alive.
I made some friends, told them all of my problems, and they said “you should have left,” but things got too deep to solve them. What good is the mind if it’s not moments apart from my heart? The distance in my eyes was further than I could find. Attention, sex, and violence; I don't know who I am or when it all began.
Attention, sex, and violence is what I need to survive. I don't know who I am or why I'm still alive.
“You used to be emotional with a small amount of depth that I was standing in.” / “Kneel to repent your sins.”
Looking in the mirror and my body starts to cringe. I don't know who I am or where it all began.

Cuddled up beside my AK, I think I’m gonna take the pain away but I'm out of pills. I’m thinking of you and I'm a nervous wreck.
Fix the daisy chain inside my head. I think it could be all this medicine but I'm having dreams about prosthetic limbs and a child soldier’s bleeding severed head.
Blood spills into the air and through your mouth, that’s the kind of living I've been talking about. I’m going to drink drink drink until you tell me that I’m full. I’m going to have to water board everyone you want me to. Sleep the days away. I dream so often that I envision myself inside of a coffin bed.
Please take the liberty of politely handing out these killing sprees. Please just pull the trigger: set yourself free.
I think I swallowed my wedding ring so when I die, please don’t remind my wife of the pain I bring. Be sure to remind the future me, honestly: “Well, you tried your best, put a Purple Heart on your casket.” Drop my baby headfirst on the concrete. Lightning strikes and I let go of everything.

I love who I’m not but hate who I’ve become.

Usually I just settle my face in between my hands because I'm far too drained.
I'm far too tired to move.
This has nothing, to do with you.

These are the moments that still maim me,
The same ones that never quite escape me.
My face in a crowd, surrounded by sound, but none of their talking will wake me.