He Tells The Table That He Knows Me
Who wrote
All those inspirational quotes?
Is the world honestly this hellish? This hopeless?
I am not sad, I am content in the beauty of one,
Watching his cheeks streak in red,
From the alcoholic chic,
That drowns his pain in an expression that's obvious.
The light doesn't lie,
Crystallizing glassy eyes.
They were so clear, Like his unraveled thoughts,
Like his tongue danced to the music of a genius in his mind.
Laughing on top of my concerns,
He covers over all of me,
So I can't tell him that I watch him hurting.
Through each empty bottle,
That sublimates in his body,
His heart is overworking,
Just to keep him unsteady.
He tells the table that he knows me.
I watch like I imagine an angel,
Watching outside of a body.
And I want to hold him like a child,
I want to love him like a child,
Without boundaries or pride,
So he can cry.
His confidence kills him,
By stabbing the genius in his mind.
Circuits tied like bows on gifts,
Hard to pull apart,
They eventually cut off any remaining circulation.
He's spitting out quotes,
Inspiring me to just go back home,
Because he does not know,
The difference between drunk and sober.
He can no longer distinguish between,
Intoxicated and sober.
My attempts grow older.
Is the world really this hellish? This hopeless?
How full does the body sit,
That wrote such bullshit quotes?
Is my disbelief that body's hope?
All those inspirational quotes?
Is the world honestly this hellish? This hopeless?
I am not sad, I am content in the beauty of one,
Watching his cheeks streak in red,
From the alcoholic chic,
That drowns his pain in an expression that's obvious.
The light doesn't lie,
Crystallizing glassy eyes.
They were so clear, Like his unraveled thoughts,
Like his tongue danced to the music of a genius in his mind.
Laughing on top of my concerns,
He covers over all of me,
So I can't tell him that I watch him hurting.
Through each empty bottle,
That sublimates in his body,
His heart is overworking,
Just to keep him unsteady.
He tells the table that he knows me.
I watch like I imagine an angel,
Watching outside of a body.
And I want to hold him like a child,
I want to love him like a child,
Without boundaries or pride,
So he can cry.
His confidence kills him,
By stabbing the genius in his mind.
Circuits tied like bows on gifts,
Hard to pull apart,
They eventually cut off any remaining circulation.
He's spitting out quotes,
Inspiring me to just go back home,
Because he does not know,
The difference between drunk and sober.
He can no longer distinguish between,
Intoxicated and sober.
My attempts grow older.
Is the world really this hellish? This hopeless?
How full does the body sit,
That wrote such bullshit quotes?
Is my disbelief that body's hope?