It's just the way I am.
It's only my nature.
It's why going to bed can be the hardest thing to do.
And why I'd rather wait for the pulses of my heart to slow to stillness and
the flow of blood from my brain to spill down to my feet.
It's why I drink too much on weeknights.
And why I don't talk to my friends.
It's why I'd rather nothing more than to throw my heart away
and take pills and go to shows and dance alone.
It's why no one writes me loves notes.
It's why hitting and throwing things at walls
is the best way to remember I'm alive.
It's why I chase the hand of the boy with a girl on his arm.
It's why I'm suddenly lonely again.
I don't know why I do this every time.
I don't know why I've done this again.
I don't know why I do this to myself.
Except to know I'll never settle.
It's better to be alone than to be a crisis.
So to you, I'm throwing you away. I recall control.
And to you, you're still my Apollo.