I’m sitting here with a pen that feels too heavy

Trying to “make sense of it all,” but the page is empty

I thought I had a verse about losing my mind

But I’m just losing my train of thought this time

Is it “right”? Was it ever?

I’m just rearranging letters like they’ll make me feel better.

I don’t know what to write about anymore

Is it the one-sided love or the smudge on the floor?

I’m exhausted, but I’m “fine,” I guess

Living in the middle of a high-definition mess

Maybe this is the best I can do

Just a song about not knowing how to talk to you.

I wrote something about a snake earlier today

It felt poetic then, now it feels light-years away

I’m tired of metaphors, I’m tired of the seams

I’m tired of being the girl who haunts her own dreams

One minute I’m better, the next I’m a wreck

With the ghost of your hands still around my neck.

Maybe I’m fine.

Maybe I’m just bored.

Maybe I’m holding a grudge I can’t afford.

I could be better, I could be at the top

But I’m stuck in this loop and I don’t know how to stop

Is this the best thing? This scrap of a song?

Or am I just proving I’ve been lonely too long?

I have nothing left to say.

But I have to keep writing so I don’t go crazy.

Give me back my heart.

Or don’t.

I think I’ve forgotten what to do with it anyway