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.”