Ironman

Spoon theory, internal croonings and closed doors

I'm bleeding, and 'fine-tuning' how it pours

Because I'm fine 'tuning-out' my core

Hedging my bets they'll be pruning it some more

So I'm etching runics in the sore

Indigestible gloom, when it's consumed as metaphor

This cocoon is sooner than before, gettin' tore

But holy fuck, man, these boondocks feel forlorn

And honestly, I don't know, if I can do this anymore..

It ain't about sulking, I've waded through a nullified lake

I'm just jaded I let bullheadeds see my vulnerable state

The bullies, the gullibles with wooled over shades

You can't see me but a leather strap with bullion plates

I pulled out of Hades with a pulse I remade,

Now I'm cold

So I keep warm in reems of manifestos like lullabies splayed

And the inspos I pull from's been culled but evades,

Once rug-pulled, at the thought of losing control I'm afraid

So I just, sit with the knife dug in my chest

 

'Til my ruggedness, starts dullin' the blade.