how many times will i die in my head?

by five nine three

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released October 14, 2015

lyrics to track 2 by victoria vartanyan



all rights reserved


five nine three Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

June 2015 - May 2017

new music will be posted under the name Stop Motion

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Track Name: i thought maybe i'd die
i am extra afraid of death tonight,
and the fragile existence that we all live.
i have died myself a time or two, sometimes in the same room as you.
when the lights were dim,
and my hair pulled back in a ponytail that is so tight around my head,
it makes me lose all of my feeling.
and right now, i feel like i am suffocating,
and the lights are darker than dim tonight.
i want to hold your hand because i am so scared to die,
hold my hand and tell me i will not die tonight,
and although we both know you can't be sure, i think i'll be alright. even if it is a lie, i think i'll be alright.

i hope i dont die tonight but if i do, i loved them all. even though it was hard for me to always feel that and show it. and i hope they feel that and know it with an absolute certainty. and i hope they will remember how flawed i was, but how much i was trying. i hope they will remember how scared i was but how i wanted to be fearless and alive with every piece of me. i hope they will live, not with the absence of me, but with the memories of me and with the hope that more meaning exists beyond those times. i hope there is so much more, i truly do . and i hope that i will belong there, i hope it is less painful than this. but if there is not, and if i do not make it there, i think this was enough. as sad as that is. i think to know and to love and to be, even for the briefest moment , that is enough.
Track Name: some words that my friend wrote, they remind me of the way i used to breathe
in the bakery, the blue walls smell like baby powder, and we sit ugly on folding metal chairs, around clear plastic tables that have always felt too small.
and the glazed rings we ask for every sunday afternoon are always gone, and it’s always the after-church boys, getting the last ones.
we see them, some weeks: buttons on new shirts already hanging by thin threads, whole faces sticky after the first bite.
and the milkshakes are always either too thick or too thin, but they taste like milk and air and honey every time.
and we watch the little old ladies with baby pink lipstick come and go, and sometimes, we go years without seeing matilda, and when we do–we always do–we wonder if we’re living in a ghost town, after all.
after all, every sunday, the bakery closes at four, and the blue, blue walls look gray from outside when the lights go off.
and we haven’t seen matilda since july, and we’ve gone so much longer, but lately, we haven’t felt her, either, except in the parts of our stomachs where sinister things hide.
and the milkshakes have so many calories. and the after-church boys pay with bills instead of change, now, and you’re not supposed to think about death in the bakery, but we do. we always do.
and we pretend the chairs, icy on our calves, are comfortable. and we smile with our teeth full of sugar even when we would rather be rotting, because we’re certain that we’re close to god, this way.
Track Name: but i didn't
a few nights ago i felt there was a strange presence in my room
or maybe it was my head, i dont know
but it was lingering near my pillow
and i tried to pull it out of my ears
but it fought its way down inside of my chest and it's probably going to stay there for years

i screamed the other day, hoping anger would eat my fears
and the deep, ugly sadness that has made a home here
im sorry im so sorry that i think i'll die young
they tell me my grandpa said the same thing, he lived to be 92
why do you think you are any different
i don't know what the difference is, but i feel it
a selfish and warped view of life, maybe and i hate it
but sometimes nothing, nothing feels real,
not the town that ive grown up in, and not the body that ive grown into, and not the people who say "i love you,"
none of it,
and ive been taking medicine for an injured hip,
and i'll admit that it hurts, but looking at the pills that i have to crush up because i cannot swallow them whole,
it makes me realize
my brain is going to swallow me whole
if i do not try to love it.
i'm sorry to every ounce of my body for every minute that i've hated it, and i'm sorry for every single person i have left waiting
because i started burying myself as soon as i was born,
i have been preparing for my funeral since i was five years old.
i don't want to write my eulogy anymore,
my death is weighing upon my chest and everything is in knots
these muscle relaxers make my body tired,
but they dont do much for my thoughts