Sink Water from Almost Close by ArsAuctor

I’ve been characterizing myself through my own apprehension. Wearing out my body through my double-checked self-doubt. I quake throughout letters I’ve written and rehearsed for years. I never swallowed the blood that pooled inside of my mouth
What’s your favorite film? Care to tell me about yourself? I’ll fill you in on travels that sailed no further than the trash on my bedroom floor. Will you actually listen? I’ll wash the dishes and tell you about wisely choosing your words.
How does it feel to be the one that everyone wants you to be…Like being dragged by a horse across fields and oceans and off the sides of Earth? I’ve been leaning on certain feelings revealing themselves for something simple like the same deck of cards being shuffled for the fifth time. What am I to do when I am just ruins? Buried underground with no friends. Will I stand the test of time? But how can I, if I’m always picking up the broken branches of others that are midway through soaking in my own sink water
Doubting my intentions while soaking with the dishes. Where have you been since I last came to visit? I brought my notebooks to prove who I am, but of course you don’t even look at them. I got my scars from cuts, from friends, that you said I’d never see again. But here they are poking knives. Just like the old times. Walk the neighborhood at night.
What did you want to be when you grew up? Have you tried to rest your affliction? Are you still trying to touch yourself just to get attention? Driving towards home thinking of what you did. Repeatedly taking showers to get rid of the filth.
And with every storm, the trees begin to shed, and here I am picking up branches again. I’m the leaky faucet dripping into a clogged drain. No one’s home, fill the sink. Never knowing when exactly the house will flood again.
I think I’m happy and I think you’re lying. You’re crying over spilt milk that you poured inside me. Turn the lights off if you’re not going to use them. Close the front door, you’re letting the cold air in. Take a short shower, use all the hot water. You’re not the same, you’ve changed. What’s your lucky number? It plays in my mind one step at a time. I was trapped in the drain when the flood began.
(Your branches are soaking in my sink water) You didn’t visit me in my dreams when you died that night, but it’s all right. I never wrote you letters when you were alive. I can’t decide if I’m terrified or if it’s right to face my fears one last time.
All my life I’ve dreamed of branches growing out of sink water. I’ve filled notebooks about nothing but how I am reacting to everyone and everything. I’m always picking up the broken branches of others that are midway through soaking in my own sink water

• Experimental
• experimental art rock
• Nashville