The Mute Season

This is my daily plea
This is my martyr’s prayer
This is my crimson leech
This is my black despair
This is days spent in bed
Wasting away for what
Cause if I stepped outside I wouldn’t find a God
This is my longing hunger
This is my open page
These are my shaking hands
This is my final fade.
Here I am again
Stuck in bed
A bottle full of pills and my stomachs sick
Lungs full of dust
Four thousand thoughts
I’m stuck in my head and I’m dreadfully lost
Your idea of hell might not look like this
A cornucopia of flames where the devil lives
But for me
The flames
They linger on my lips
And the devils on the page in the fucking ink.
I’m fighting for my life
Down in this hole
I feel my mind slowly slipping away from me
Crawling on hands and knees screaming
For this life to give me something
Clawing at the walls
(So prescribe me depression tell me it’s all in my head.
That year I spent in mute season I’ll never forget.)
This is my daily plea
This is my martyr’s prayer
This is my crimson leech
This is my black despair
This is days spent in bed
Wasting away for what
Cause If I stepped outside I wouldn’t find a god.
This is my longing hunger
This is my open page
These are my shaking hands
This is my final fade.
These are my wasted years
Wasted youth
Tar black heart.