I'm constantly clinging on to existence
and hoping to find connection,
becoming to slave to this distance
and a lack of affection.
Every single breathe I take
is a tired excuse explaining why
I'm still not ready to break
and I'm still not ready to die.
It wouldn't be so bad
if I could find my place
and I wouldn't be so sad
if I had my own space.
Well, who am I kidding?
I hate rattling around
in an open life forbidding
any sort of common ground.
I might end up resorting to drink
and hating who I've become
when I'm sober enough to think
but drunk enough to feel numb.
And I'll send a thousand texts
to an empty black screen
which is always waiting for the next
forced and formal routine.
I think I'd be okay
if I knew this was normal
but I know noone to say
"hey, this is normal"
and so I'll carry on being detached
and I'll carry on feeling numb,
yet I'm still hoping to feel attached
so I'm not ready to succumb.
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