Analysis of Fine Point Sharpie

This song is sung
By someone named Pink
Who isn’t actually the singer
But the band
And he sings of a feeling
Familiar to me
That others can't always understand
And that I can't explain

Of hands like balloons
Words unable to come out
Of my mouth
Like my brain is moving
Faster through time
Than the rest of me
Thinking thoughts
Twisted like a dream

It makes me think
About the time my friend
And I got high
And blew up
Balloons we bought at Walmart
And drew faces on them with
Black fine-point Sharpie
And scattered them on the carpet

I sat in my Dad’s reclining
Leather armchair and she laid
On the sofa in my pink Snuggie

The candle burning was called
Merry Cookie
I think
It isn’t made anymore

And I floated
Through different realities
Different living rooms
Sitting in that armchair
Like someone was pushing me

And I asked her
“How do I know if this is real?”
And she told me to shut up
Because she was trying to sleep

Now we’re still friends
But not as close
Her new best friends
Are just people she drinks with
And the pills she’s prescribed
That she probably shouldn’t be taking
Because they don’t mix with alcohol
And an empty stomach

I wish I could tell her
To not go down that path
I have and she’s seen
Where it led me
And where I am now
Trapped
Behind the smoke on the horizon
But the words won’t come out of my mouth

I wonder now if she too
Has become
Comfortably numb