The Sender Is Not Dead!

A typical morning you’ll find me in bed

Wrapped up with monsters that stalk through my head

Don’t worry, they’re friendly, they talk in my sleep

They do the crying while I do the creep

They don’t ever question if I’m okay

That’s alright; I don’t have much to say

Empty promises can’t hurt me anyway

At least that’s what I’ve told myself to say

Something in the dark window

My face; the monster rattles the glass in my bones

My heart, its' beats, the call of the beast

There’s something inside of me wanting release

Your words bouncing off empty walls, your tongue playing dead,

I’m sick of the illness, the truth running red-

There is a sickly-sweet silence that washes our bed

I’m drowning out arrogance; the demons you’ve bred

Careful not to lose my head

I’ve been this close comatose, the cancer’s been fed-

I’ve been tripping on the mend

Return to sender, this is not what I meant!

I'd rather be dead!

I'd rather be dead!