It starts at the ends.
A little here, a little there.
A small leak, or noise or frayed edge.
I sew it up, patch it back together
Only to find another crumbling, rusting
Part.
I wear a face I thought was mine.
And when even that peels off, too
I wonder where the meaning all went.
It's easy, to trip on so many rocks that you
Forget what not-falling feels like.
'Til all you're pulling up is your own bootstraps
Drown too long, you forget about the air
And all you have is the water pressing down.
I gotta breathe, a little.
I know my gray-washed world is temporary,
That technicolor life isn't far away, but
I just get so tired of grasping at the
end of my rope.
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