Pick Your Poison

Past Tense of the Future

I would write a letter as a song
Just to tell about the things that take so long
Like the time that i got better,
Or this old fucking letter
That tells this wrong.

Conscious of my skin embraced alone
As the moments slip away into the moon,
I've been told my eyes are sweet
By people I can't see,
And all of this revolves around my clarity.

My heart reflects the stance that I've been in,
And the questions in my head seemed innocent.
But here I am with this paper
Describing all my pain for
No one but the voices in my mind.

Truth is not out
There you'll find me
Holding up my
Hands to the sky,
Tears unformed
Cause I weathered this storm.