| Pick up on my nuanced groans
|
| Rip apart my soiled interior walls
|
| Given I’m a sack of bones
|
| Maybe you should have excoriated home
|
| The system that I need to cope
|
| Shatters me with every idiom
|
| Suffering a cut to hope
|
| Sullen at the time I needed you the most
|
| Let them bleed me
|
| Feed me salt under the table
|
| So I
|
| Miss a bit, miss a bit out
|
| Miss a bit, miss a bit out
|
| Miss a bit, miss a bit, miss a bit
|
| Treat me as a prescient ghost
|
| Watching over the familial
|
| Speak of me in loud, clear notes
|
| I’m the boy who was invisible to all
|
| Let them bleed me
|
| Feed me salt under the table
|
| And if grief can’t reach us
|
| How lamentable it is to your hope
|
| And if grief won’t teach us
|
| Then I’m powerless to move you along
|
| From these walls |