The art of spilling over

I am on many lows
while you’re trying to go slow
now I’m kissed by sand and cold
bare skin flecked silver and gold

I keep my thumb against my throat
a blooming gun for my last note
flay to find the heart, so remote
miss it and I’d never really know

can’t find peace in my own head
tired enough to defer to you in bed
stay put so I’ll never make you cry.