Each day is a release of the inner toil
Like moving on from a swift knee to the gut
Pull yourself up, get up off the ground
It's only myself here when I'm looking around
I took a knock to the face, and spit out three teeth
Bloodied gums and red knuckles were a sign of my defeat
My father told me that a man should never cry
But I'm doing just that
So it's moments like these that make me wonder where I'm actually at
Head buried between two knees
A black eye and a hand full of gravel
Dealing with the inner demons that appear during the darkest hours
Most of the time I wish for it to all disappear
Unrealistically, I dream of perfect scenarios playing out
But instead I know that all the plans that once were made have long since burned out
Serving as empty coffins in an unvisited cemetery
The bridges that we constructed were made of sand after all
And what I struggle with most is knowing that I still mean every word I wrote.
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