I can be possibly feeling alone.
I've been isolating myself inside my head inside my home.
While others sit by my side speak of broken bones.
I'm the only one curious about myself, it seems.
However, it's something I should accept and never whine about and bleed.
The things I'm curious about have only drowned me in the sea.
It's an ugly thing to sit and read.
Causes anxiety in my feet.
Reminds me of the gritty words I uses to eat.
Gritty people on the street.
That Jo's still squirming there in me.
What I would do to kill her.
Leave her bloody, alone in the winter.
Grab her by the neck
Cause a black eye.
And trust me, I've tried.
Always wake up, and it's always on my face this time.
But I just hate her numbers, wish it was only one.
And when I'm over with you, ragged child.
Burry all you've done.
In the dirty dirt where you belong.