BRING ON THE BLACK!

Can’t decide what’s fake and what’s fact So you’re up late screaming, “Bring on the black!” Smoked so many cigarettes alone on a bathroom sink I think my lungs are full to the brim with ink And I can’t get it past my throat to my fingers to the paper to the stingers of the hive in my head Last week I had a dream you were dead I was on the phone calling Begging for your body back Screaming, “Bring on the black!” I’m opening a faucet and I’m scared to let it run It’s been easier the past few months when I would hold my tongue ’Cause when I write it all down I have to face it But when I hold it inside I can pretend it’s okay I haven’t called my grandmother in a year ’Cause she’s the only one I know Who tells me shit I don’t wanna hear But I need to hear I’ve been in the gym these mornings It takes me 7 minutes to run a mile And 7 seconds to run from my problems I’m working on my lung capacity Fun capacity Uptight bitch Take a breath and relax, it isn’t so bad. Keep drinking keep dancing Keep hopeless romancing They say that keys open doors But you handed all your keys To your friends and they dip ’em in a powder sack Screaming, “Bring on the black!” And every single second is like late-night TV A Skinemax freebie Watch the night sweats drip down his back Yelling, “Bring on the black!” My father said, “You’ll never belong to a man till I’m dead” So we just belong to a bag instead. Winners don’t lose, right? Except sleep. Counting sheep. Relentless beep. Of the hotel TV. Too high to react. So I’m up late begging, “Lord, bring on the black.”