Stick Around

The steel grates

every time

in my mind.

Doors slam shut

and I start banging on the inside

of my own skull.

Bars and rods take my beating, unmoving.

I get angrier,

frustrated and sad.

Always one feeling remains,

whether when my rage starts

or when my energy is gone at the end,

I believe I haven’t done enough

to make you want

me to stick around,

me to stick around, me to stick around.

I believe I haven’t done enough

for you to want

me to stick around.

 

I said my life is a whirlpool

but maybe it’s a small box

and I’ve wrapped it to fool myself,

keep me from getting out.

But that,

that is better not to think about.

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