You can’t come down and bring yourself to the ground.
Thoughts brought to sound,
get to see them all burn to the ground.
Think, what to say?
Did that come out that way?
I meant it.
I’m sorry?
That’s not what I meant to say.
Confused and unsure of the weapon my mouth can sometimes be.
I was shooting and unloading and I’m sorry that’s not what I meant to hit but I hit it and you’re wounded and I’m finding it hard to live with the guilt.
This isn’t me, this isn’t the man that I wish to be.
Try to save face.
Retreat, head for base.
Scars that deface.
Get to see that look on your face.
This isn’t me,
this isn’t the man that I wish to be.