Drowned Confessions
Am I dramatic? When all my thoughts are static?
Every night I go to bed,
Praying I won't wake again.
The dreams I have aren't pretty—
They're painfully, horribly gritty.
It's no excuse,
To miss my work and sing the blues,
But I feel like I'm going crazy,
Maybe I'm going crazy.
My dreams are pure horror,
Every night they leave me poorer.
Lurid little fights,
Underneath the dead of night.
I close my eyes,
I lose my name,
And every dream becomes the same.
I don't want to go insane,
But I'm losing track of my own name.
Those lurid little fights come every night,
And I wake up scared by morning light.
I feel crazy—
But I don't have PTSD.
So tell me, is it an excuse To always have the blues?
I don't want to cause a fight,
But I'm having one every night.
I lay my head down,
hoping for rest, But sleep just makes another mess.
I watched a woman burn alive,
Trapped in a box,
unable to survive. Her screams tore through the walls around,
Her hands beat hard against the ground.
The flames climbed higher,
the air grew thin,
And still the nightmare wouldn't end.
Then everything went deathly still— But her screams haunt me even still.
They echo inside my head,
Long after I wake from dread.
I don't say it,
But I'm insane again.
My heart breaks when I wake each night,
Dragged from another horror fright.
And I'm told again,
"It sucks to suck in the end."
When I mention I can't sleep at night,
I'm told that I'm the one who's doing it right— That I
should just go to bed,
A little earlier instead.
But I can't sleep before seven,
Or the nightmares drag me straight to hell.
I close my eyes and lose control,
While every horror takes its toll.
They pain me every day,
I just want them to go away.
I don't want to die— I think it every night.
And it hurts to even say That someday I might lose the
fight.
Maybe I'll go insane,
Maybe I'll break beneath the strain,
But I don't want my story ending With my life becoming something
pending. I don't want to die.
I just don't know how to feel alive.