grind.

Standing over a tomb of my past self,
Hanging over a limbo, my bargain-bin version of hell.
Home is where your heart is, and mine is shattered like mirrors;
Becoming tone deaf, because no one wanted to hear me.

How do I reach for the stars, while neck-deep in a hole?
I wish for the earth to tear open and swallow me whole,
I scratch over unhealed scars with a fine-tooth comb.
Reminiscing over the couldas, standing over my tomb.

I should gouge out my organs of hearing and vision.
Constantly fighting over each and every decision.
Improvisational theater of one: me and me only;
I would crawl to the top just to justify why I’m so lonely.

They say, dress for a job that you wish to have—
The tidal wave took away all the clothes that I had.
I wish for the ace in my sleeve, yet I’ve no shirt to hide it in.
I’m over a tomb of myself, thinking whether to take a step in.