elizabeth whitington - skip the party, cut to the suicide lyrics
i verbally put my hands in my pocket
as listen to you talk about how high you are
for the fifteenth time this week
it’s a song i remember i wrote before
feelings welling up, death recurring
and i guess that today’s the day i get to die like a real girl
face pointed upwards and mouth filled with hurting scars
all my friends have given handjobs in the contra costa stadium cinema
so why should i be the one to break the cycle?
mick’s polaroids are broken fractured pieces of proof that i ever existed
it doesn’t matter if the glass is half+empty or half full
i’m going to break it and start squeezing it in the palm of my hand
trash bag filled with glass
inconvenient breakdowns after class
sleeping in on a raining spring day
i think about myself as a girl tied up and quartered
and if i had the energy for one more hug
i’d give it up to a fast+moving train
suck it up if it’s cold
you don’t know what it’s like
to be sold onto a lie that you were ever loved at all
i still have your dumb f+cking bird drawing hanging above my head
and every day, i look above myself, wrapped around in dread
just so i can remind myself
that there’s nothing better for me up there than down here
(what a stupid teenage line! i’ll take your hand if you eat mine!)
there’s only so many times you can use being high
as an excuse for being so sh+tty to your friends
we will go outside in the rain
and i will see you start to smile as my face gets rearranged
you were never a friend, were you?
i was just a means to your end, wasn’t i?
i was the fool
i’m so f+cking pathetic
we’re still the same, if not minorly f+cked
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