When people ask me why it looks like I play tic-tac-toe on my wrists,

I tell 'em it's because that's where I can feel my body insisting

Over, and over, and over again,

That it's alive.


Because sometimes I feel like there's nothing but ice in my chest.

I guess I got sick of trying to guess which part of me was lying,

And decided to tell it to just shut the hell up already.

To give it a rest.


To let me sleep, maybe even dream-

But if not, then that's fine,

Because in my nightmares, at least I'm scared.

And I always know that I want to survive.


When I'm awake, I sometimes forget that,

And it takes a game of tic-tac-toe to bring me back-

To remember it's all down to chance anyway,

And that the point of playing isn't always to win.


Maybe someday I'll stop forgetting the fact that something's always better than nothing.

In the meantime, I'll just keep starting over when I run out of moves.

Hey, at least I'm still playing, right?

It seems like that's what everyone wants me to do.


They also want the truth, which is so long and complicated,

And it's hard as it is just to make myself speak.

Sometimes I wish I could leave it all at;

"I'm too old for eenie-meenie-miney-mo, and way too young for bingo."


But you deserve so much better than that.

So if you ask, I'll tell you as much as I can, as long as you’re ready to hear it.

‘Cuz I know that I can’t take it back,

And I sure as hell don’t want to turn any of your dreams into nightmares.


I'm sure you already have plenty.


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