A really long metaphor about how judgemental I am towards myself. |
The judge sits at the head, falcon-eyed Her gavel could fall, with finality, At any second, and I know I cannot win My head will be in the basket, in the end Because the war is not between me and the opponent It is between me and the judge And her guillotine gavel There is nothing to win There is everything to lose Her watchful eyes Are the holes I put my hands in I hunch over, bend to her law The jury watches on, they do not understand my battle They let slip several secrets Condemning me to her grave The battle is heated, the opponent wounded and close to tears I like the opponent But I must fight fiercely, must have the perfect argument Or the guillotine will bang around the room And my wrists will scar themselves Sometimes it is hard to distinguish her from the jury, she hides well She stand there and tells me her judgement with her eyes The opponent does not understand how brutal I am They don’t know that if I slip up Feel anything Have one weakness I am that much closer to lead weights And a river A stream of bubbles up, up, up Me, down, down, down So they stare wide eyed as I tell the judge my defense And the jury has no idea what to make of it And my lawyer, dressed in blue, Tells me to rebel To give up, to stop “Look, they’re already begging” She says And I turn back to the judge, blood more iron than anything Cold with fear, But guilt stares at me with the opponent’s eyes And I let them go But I never leave the courtroom I am never not fighting For another second with my head My lawyer begs me to give up more often than not Fighting the judge Leaves long scars across my friend’s memories And mine So I still my fist And stand my ground Preparing my next argument Steeling it making it airtight Because my heart likes it’s heart beat And my lungs like air But my lawyer is right I can’t win like this I just need to learn To put down the gavel |