Aim For The Floor

Aim For The Floor

Step 1: Shotgun loaded.

Step 2: Now aim for the floor.

Step 3: Readjust. You want the barrel right there on your foot.

Step 4: Close your eyes. Squeeze ‘em tight. Pull the trigger and hit send.

 

And he sends back “thank you” or “I feel a lot better”.

He has no idea what you just did to yourself.

He has no idea both feet went missing six times in this last month.

 

Step 1:

Step 2:

Step 3:

And repeat.

 

Throw the clock out the window.

Boom.

 

Cherish the time you have with her.

Boom.

 

Talk to her about it.

This is obviously important to you.

Boom.

Boom.

 

Please, tell me about it.

I’m here for you.

I’m your friend.

…I have to be here.

 

I have to tell you:

You’ll be fine.

You guys will figure it out.

 

I have to tell you—

Well, actually no.

I have to keep my mouth shut.

Because I don’t love you.

Or at least I’m not supposed to.

 

I don’t care that you’re going to spend the night with your girlfriend.

I can’t.

I don’t care that you told her you love her.

Because if I let those facts come through,

I will go absolutely crazy over you.

 

While I had to stand,

And watch you,

Fall deeper and deeper in love with her.

Oblivious that the one behind you was just as deep too.

Only not with her,

But with you.

 

So I have to be here:

When you were worried about her.

When you first spent the night.

 

I couldn’t say:

All these heinous things.

At least not to you.

That I thought high school was over!

That I thought I’d finally gotten away from her.

When my best friend, you fell in love with her.

 

I was going to be a better person this time.

I couldn’t go charging in and break you guys up.

I couldn’t go charging in at all –so we go to:

 

Step 1: Shotgun loaded.

You guys will be fine.

Step 2: Now aim for the floor.

Yes I’m sure.

Step 3: Readjust. Last time you almost missed.

Darling I’m here as a friend.

Step 4: Eyes closed, pull the trigger and hit send.

 

Darling,

I’m here as a friend.

And you have no idea that it’s killing me.

In bed, at the desk, or over coffee.

You’re standing now in the kitchen in front of me.

Darling,

Help me.

Under these jeans,

You don’t see:

That I’m a self-made amputee.