Tomorrow, I Will Go Dancing

Tomorrow, I Will Go Dancing

Today, I’m eating margarine straight from the tub
and I feel so guilty however hard I scrub.
My wrist's unbandaged, I’m trying not to rub
but I’ve so many sores that need lancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

My fingernails are rusty. Head full of ills.
Chest hot and tender as stomach spills.
But tomorrow, I’m going to get these little pills.
See, everything about me needs enhancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Tomorrow, you’ll go dancing, in your glitter tat.
Absinthe! Vodka! You never get fat.
Laughing. Smiling. All that goes with that.
Today, I feel anxieties advancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Hear my father’s voice, warped and splintered today,
he says “Misery will find you, boy, you’ll never get away.”
My dick feels like a beehive on a warm, summer’s day
when I see pretty things all preening and prancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Everyone there’s friendly. Falling into song.
I want to be loved. I’ve been lonely for so long.
Tomorrow is a vessel, sail way from all this wrong
where bitches say I’m ugly and can’t sing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Today, I feel your laughter and it’s gnawing in my head.
It's biting out the blisters where you burned until I bled.
If I panic ‘til I can’t breathe, feel I’d be better dead,
well, I tell myself that risk is worth chancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

I want to join the happy crowds, glorious and glad.
I want to like pop music. Never feel bad.
My therapist’s implying that I choose to be this sad.
I tell her, “You know nothing… but if you’re asking...
I think she's asking?
She's asking.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.”