You said you could take this.
You said it wouldn’t get ugly again.
You know, you can’t meditate this.
You wish it never began.
I want to be sober.
I want to be like a river.
Just let my life flow through me.
But I can’t connect with a loaded gun at my head.
You started to worry.
You bent yourself to get under the hand.
And now, with your shipwreck stories,
You say you don’t understand.