I’ve got to let
the monsters out
or they’ll eat my
insides:
If I let them
stomp around on paper
they’ll stop their
stomping in my skull
I’ve got to let
the aching be real
or I’ll lose my
mind:
If I hit the
walls so my knuckles go blue
then it will only
hurt for a while
I’ve got to let
the noise out
or I’ll stop
hearing things at all:
If I scream till
my lungs are empty paper bags
it might be still
for once in my chest
I’ve got to sort
some things out
or the silent weight will crush my spirit:
If I make the
invisible things into pictures
I might start to
see what’s the matter with me.
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