The Impasse from Get Well by Get Well

I hear your every word, yet
even taken with a grain of salt and the best of intentions
it smells and tastes of sick to me.
There’s no ill will that I hold, no curse to plague your soul.
Just self-preservation. Survival instinct.
I can’t be your crutch or your compass.
I won’t play victim or accomplice.
Alone is where you’ll find if the rope that your clutching is anchored to anything
other than ego and obstinacy.
There is no safe haven.
No deity orchestrating from up above.
No safety net to catch the weight when you fall.
You are owed nothing but yourself.
We control nothing but what we cede control of ourselves to.
It assimilates in until its wearing your skin.
It clouds any shred of truth.
Even taken with a grain of salt,
your words are just white noise falling on deaf ears.
I can’t save you.

• Metal
• hardcore
• metalcore
• noise rock
• post-hardcore
• straight edge
• Philadelphia