Too stressed out for everything
Night fell on me writing this and I ran out of paper
So I crossed the name out at the top of the page
Not sure why I'm even writing this but I guess it feels
right
It sort of feels like I have to-like an exorcism
I guess that makes me sound crazy but that's alright
Lately I feel like I might be, not that I've heard any
voices or anything
Just like that everyday kind, where you forget things you
shouldn't
And you think too much about death
Maybe you know what I'm talking about
Or maybe you would have known? Or had known?
Is it once knew?
I don't know what tense to use
I know I never used to feel like this
I used to never think of death or hear voices
I used to feel like everything was perfectly in order, a
normal life
But I guess then came a departure
That I know you understand or would've understood?
I guess things changed after that, and I'm mostly scared now
But it's there in the stories, or whatever they are
You can see it, anybody could if they could look
I wrote some notes in the margins explaining it
The rest is in between lines or in the fine Print
First, the feeling of abandonment, then trying to cope
Then death and hope and the thing itself, waiting for me
It's all there in the pages ahead of here
It's there waiting for you, or for me, I'm not sure
The whole story
For everything, for everything
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