813 Maryland St.

She put bullet through a bible and thought it would empower her

But she felt nothing and that’s all she needed, to finally feel nothing

She stopped by my house the next morning and said

I’m sorry but I still don’t feel like this life is worth living, you did all you can you do

I looked at her with tears in my eyes and said

Darling, I’m sorry, but I’m glad I’m not you

She said: At least I know this is all temporary

But the carpet grains will still hold stains, even when you die

You won’t have to face them but they will remain

She said she had enough baggage to rattle the cage of rage

Worthless page after page to rearrange the strange game of pain

Seeping further into a strain of remains

Tags with names, she felt like the lone survivor of a civil war

Of inner peace versus inner desire, hoping somehow to change

The casualties were her hope and her sanity

A damaging calamity of fragile ideals being washed away

When waging war against a staging of poor ideologies that lead to death

But at least she felt something and at least it all meant something

There’s no way to see beauty when its just the blind leading the blind

There’s no way to see beauty when its just losing love to justify your stupid lies

She said, “I watched my house catch fire and I didn’t feel a thing

Well darling, congratulations, I wish I had that sort of inner peace

I’m digging into catacombs built beneath this frame I call a body

And expectations diminish as I uncovered there’s nothing underneath hiding

She had taken what I once needed to feel like I could be something

And I spent so long being bitter but now I’m finally celebrating

Thanking God for those brief moments where my eyes met hers

And she was caught in a life that felt like one rapid blur

The spur of the moment cure for her boredom and my lack of adventure

We were caught somewhere between a pack of menthols she kept on the nightstand

Where she would sleep and a broken down truck that used to drive her to her dreams

But now sat as an eye sore metaphor for the home we created to nourish our weaknesses

The brittle middle ground sounding this rebound argument with God that we call living

It was nothing not even trying to win any sort of race, I just wanted to finish

Or at least sort of place but as I kept running I diminished the existence

I created out of love so I can breath easier

When I tried to fall asleep in this ocean pushing me side to side on her broken dreams

She said: It’s easier to fall asleep just knowing that

When I have something to say somebody’s listening to me

She said: I don’t care if I have a plan

I don’t care if I understand all I need to know is that I have some sort of calling

I just need to know that somebody is listening