Old Husks

I honestly can’t say a single nice thing
Or much of anything for all of these insects
And their empires
Holding old husks
But I can say
I don’t miss the days
Of being a pawn or a martyr in somebody’s imperfect game
When the shows I take
Mean more than the points I make
Like how I say things that the earth shouldn’t take
How I’m screaming out
Like all the time
In hopes that these hang-ups will somehow unwind
When these terrible scenarios seem like all I know
So I’ll pack up some feelings to take to the grave
And I honestly can’t say a single nice thing
Or much of anything for all of these insects
And their empires
Holding old husks only for themselves
Only for themselves
A little insight into hell
A little comfort for our shells
And we stay cause it’s safe there
I admit I’m content
With this feeling of constant
Relapsing, reviving, then lying in wait
When the unhinged start of all these things I pull apart
Replace them with magic until it’s just not the same
A chorus line, set to off-half-time
Piece of the puzzle not quite set in frame
Then it creeps in like a soft wind
And I feel it all over like old, chipping paint
But the real world is compelled to spin
I wish that I could have felt anything since
So fuck all these insects and their empires
Holding old husks only for themselves
Only for themselves
Only for themselves
Only for themselves
Only for themselves