The Melancholy

I keep pretending, keep playing make believe
Because I want you to make you believe in me again
Remember when we were friends? Remember high school?
Remember how I finally let go? Wait, that hasn't happened yet. Just a lonely fool
Trying to figure out problems with a handful of matches
Placed against my skin to feel heat and warmth. Return to ashes
And get my head back into classes but I hate it there.
I hate it everywhere. So of course I don't think it's fair
Scars littering my fingertips that you can physically see
But the ones in my brain are the definition of gory
I know I'm really fucked up. At least I can recognize
What's parading in my heart? Maybe I need better eyes
And you were my better half. Probably more of that.
So round me down and I'll finally poof as a matter of fact
Let me vanish into smoke trails, please let me burn off
This has been so hard and it's really made me turn soft
Please just turn off the future so I can go back in time
To something simpler. Remembering when you were mine
And now you're with other guys, giving them the time of day
When I'm stuck in a Dali painting trying to get away
I feel at fault but goddamn it I feel I was prompted
Sending me mixed signals you fucking alcoholic
Grip that pistol and take your shots, shots, shots, shots, shots
And just finish that job.
Otherwise my heart will rot, rot, rot, rot, rot
When it's done it stops
Yes you have changed. But maybe you haven't
Maybe I was just preventing your new habits
Maybe I was holding you back from a fight you belonged in
So now I just feel really obnoxious.
Cautious, notice how I'm nauseous
All of these bad thoughts, please make them stop it
I feel like having scars on my body
will make me remember what has tried to stop me
Badges of victory and dunce caps of shame
I'm hurting more and more and forgetting my name
It's Alex. But sometimes Alexander.
Goddamn it, I feel too much when I hear the proper.
Everything's a trigger and I'm just target practice
Bang, bang, bang and maybe I'll finally stop rapping
And stop doing poetry and even stop being.
No one likes me anyways, why should I keep seeing
if this will turn out well? Because you can't take it with you
And I doubt hell has baggage claim so this life is a misuse.
No this isn't excuse. This is just a bad couple days.
Starting from when I was born and ending a few after I pass away
I know I won't escape it. But god I wish I could.
Leave nothing behind and I'll be gone for good.
Gun to my head? Knife to my wrists?
Start chugging from now instead of taking sips?
Yo, dude, this is kind of depressing.
Sorry man, but thank you for listening!
It made a marginal difference like not believing in butter
And I can still make jokes from the gutter
Asking me if I'm serious? I don't fucking know anymore.
And that's probably the problem. Despite the metaphors
or the similes or the poetic devices
My vices have changed me from the nicest
To a crisis waiting to be reported on the nightly news
Bite me until I bruise. Even if I was just used
I just want to feel something. Nothing kind of sucks
I must have been born and cracked a mirror considering my luck
But enough, I've had enough today.
I'll just go outside and maybe I'll play.