Every Inch of Me is Bruised

I've got my things. I'm good to go.
(Sometimes perfection can be perfect hell).
...I swear I didn't mean for it to feel like this...

Prepare for some really severe angst headed straight your way.

I
can only hold together
my life (and sometimes not even).
Please, don't rely on some sinking ship help you float,
because, baby, I'm just a ship-turned-anchor and I'll only drag
you
down.
Roping;Reeling;
I guess you're not missing much
of this sinking:feeling.

Hours pass,
and we [youandi]
are some light at the end of the tunnel,
and the end of the sand
in your tight-wound hourglass.

and she smiles
and he frowns
and we are still indifferent
to the rushing waves that can't begin to write anything like this
and the sun rises
and sets
and i never noticed how it lit washington avenue
(until you pointed it out).

and i [me myself(ish)]
am still teenage down deep
and so, entitled,
to some broken free-verse.
you know, you know:
"too many pronouns."

and the lushes and lovers are calling
and i'm watching this chickflickfade
to whiteout.

black!
black;
grey...
grey:
grey?
white.

...and now every word of every song...