I got boulders on my shoulders
Collar bones begin to crack
There is very little left of me and it's never coming back
(...)
I try to write you poems, but the words they don't make sense
The hand tries to grip the pencil, but the fingers are too tense
I try to show emotion, but my eyes won't seem to wet
I'd love to tell you stories, but I can't remember how they went

- The Front Bottoms, "Be Nice To Me"