Tired of Trying

The fog has no teeth, but it’s eating the trees,

Dragging its belly across the dead leaves.

I’m walking a line where the dirt meets the black,

With a shivering weight hanging onto my back.

(An anxiety attack)

The creek is a throat that is choked up with silt,

Swallowing every last drop of my guilt.

I’m digging a hole with my fingernails raw,

In the soft, rotting earth of a cold winter thaw.

(Bleeding through it all)

(The guitar stops dead. Just the raw, strained vocal.)

GOD, I’M JUST SO TIRED OF TRYING!

OF PRETENDING THE DEAD PARTS OF ME AREN'T DYING!

I’M BURYING THE PERSON I WAS TOLD I SHOULD BE!

AND I’M BEGGING THE DARKNESS TO JUST LET ME BE!

I’M STILL HERE! I’M STILL HERE! I’M STILL HERE!

OHHH I’M TIRED OF TRYING

(One high, clean harmonic rings out, followed by a warm, melodic solo in D-Major. The rhythm underneath is a steady, comforting strum.)

The light is a needle that’s stitching the sky,

I’m watching the last of the vultures go by.

The dirt on my hands is just dirt anymore,

Not the burden of something I carried before.

(Showing me that there’s more)

The woods are just wood. The water is blue.

And I’m finally, finally through.