Romina Espinoza

October 2nd, 2008 - New York
Send Message

Suspended End

Old world, new skin, left uncontrolled

The body I’m in, hung out in the cold

And when it comes, comes closing in

I’ll just be skin, oh skin and bone

I’ll push everyone away when I’m angry inside

It’s hard to be kind when it’s not my body, not my mind

In case I get violent and end up causing pain

Just a reckless soul with no remorse, no refrain

Should’ve known it was a matter of time

Before my true colors come seeping through

Like blood on cloth, close your eyes, conceal the truth

Can’t be the hottest in town if my feet are chained to the ground

Dear God, what have I done?

I’ve got the bullets, but no gun

I can’t hold myself responsible

Against all things that are plausible

Curse my reflection, break the glass

Drag across my skin, let the sting pass

My mentality is flawed

See the worst in all things, it’s how I was taught

In hindsight, most things are my fault

I wish I could speak to my sadness

Discuss what went wrong and when, something to fall back on, a harness

To talk to someone who has seen the inside of my skull

Someone to berate me for all that is broken, left numb and dull

I can’t seem to cope with my actions

But I can’t confront it

I’m tired, exhausted, of all my emotions

I’m young and dumb, but my flesh feels much older

Hold myself tight while the room’s getting colder

I’ve tied the noose but I can’t kick the chair

I’ll tear out each and every strand of my hair

Once again, I’ve got the bullets but no gun

As I think and debate, should I run?

I’ve got the means but the resolve? None.

I’ve dug my grave but I can’t lie down

I’ve done all that I can yet I still stand surrounded

By all of my demons

The ghosts of my past

Of people I’ve hurt, the scars of all the times I’ve relapsed

I’ve got the solution

But no passion to put the notion in motion

I’ve got the will, the choice, nothing in my way

But yet at the end of the day

I can’t.

It’s in my hands, not a moment to waste

So close, I can taste it

A way out of this yellow haze

In front of me, a path for a better day

I just have to take that step, cross that line

I see a version of me, perfect, will she define me?

I can’t.

My limbs stay statue

Because if I move forward into uncharted water

I leave the safety of my hurt, imprinted in me, a tattoo

The security of all that I know, I’m no hero or martyr

So stuck, I stay, in a prison of my own making

Take the backseat in my own life, not partaking

If I am not in control, letting go of the wheel

And it all ceases to feel real

Am I real?

An existential crisis forgoes

A life in my head, bend where the wind blows

But where does my story end?

Will it end?

Did it ever begin?

Will I fail against all of my sin?

Will my body come to rest and submit?

Or will my subconscious run forever, with no one to attend it?
46 Total read