sitting in my room
all alone
twisted all f***ed up and stoned
wishing this song would end and these
pills would kick in

i faced my biggest fear and now
there's nothing left to do

i can barely even hate myself

and it's not satisfying anymore
to hear a good song cuz
no one else can hear it
not even the child downstairs

writing used to take up all my time
but now i don't write when
i have time to spare

getting older going nowhere

if you think of someone
as being a certain way
for so long
you will never see them
in any other way

the phone never rings and when it
finally does i won't answer
cuz it's always him
but never HIM

i've been sitting here so long i'm beginning to wish
something would catch on fire

wanting so badly to feel something
feel ANYTHING
but i'm empty
of even desire

if words were currency
i'd own the biggest mansion
a six-car garage and
12.3 acres plenty of room for expansion

why should you be allowed to
judge my words and say
they lack depth and meaning?
at least i still write

what's your reason for breathing?