training wheels.

boo hoo.

i try to purge memories but end up with migraines,
my stomach appears to be much less strong than my brain
so i'd swallow my pride but i'll vomit it back up
because i've always been the kind that bites off too much.
i can no longer guide through your self-sabotaging ways
nor can i clear the gravel that caused your skin to graze.
i'm sure that in time your skinned knees will heal,
though i hope i was a good set of training wheels.

so ill-prepared with blunt knives that can't sever,
you think you're so smart but you're not even clever
and as the coke and those long nights chip away at your soul,
i'll scratch at my arms to form trenches and foxholes.
there'll come a time you can no longer outrun the guilt
and you'll need to return to the home that you've built.
whether i'll see you back there or i meet you halfway
maybe you can teach me a few tricks about running away.