Brittle Boned

Alone, electric glow

Static snows in the lobby

Dull TV, magazines

Waiting rooms can't hide me

From the sting, paper sheets

Blood work and the IV

The whirring machines

While the nurses reassure me

This will be quick and easy

I'm not gonna feel a thing

Lie and say it'll be alright

Like a stray falling asleep

'Cause I'm so good at hurting myself

Pulse is slow

Faint metronome on my left side

Beneath my protruding spine

You can hardly hear at night

White flag, blindfold covering my sunken eyes

And a line of rifles aimed at my sick mind

'Cause I'm so good at hurting myself