I built myself up from broken parts

But an autoclave is a good place to start

The more I write, the more I feel like a fraud:

Playing with fire, not praying to a god

They say hell is a place where the devil makes

Something you love into something you hate

But I have grown happy in ruts of repetitive shame

But I've got good bones

I tore myself down into broken parts

This well-oiled machine was a good place to start:

Pep-talks wasted in prep school -

That ego-stroking cesspool

Left me with spit-shine on these new shoes

I never wore them right so I sing my blues:

Security is expensive

I'm on a conveyor belt to a life I don't want to live

"Bootstraps," "the American dream,"

Well I've spent enough time with gravel in my knees

To know these streets aren't gold

They're asphalt and concrete

Your suffering is not unique

Trade comfort for sweat and trade blood in for ink

I've got good bones

Aesthetically, I cannot compete

My muscles have near atrophied

But I've got good bones

Potential