plateu

aging in misery

here i am
on the cusp of adulthood
31 on the horizon and it still hasn't gone away
i still feel every nail thats every been dragged through my skin
someone should invent some sort of switch for this
i still hang out in rooms by myself
with a computer on my lap
and music in the air
i can hear the voices from the other rooms
laughing and enjoying themselves
and im the weirdo alone in his room
the one who can't seem to ever get his guts tied together right
they always just fall right out
the one with the dirt under his finger nails
and the scabs in all the wrong places
who looks at himself in the mirror
and tries really hard to like what he see's
every pill they give me, every one i try on my own
does nothing but buy me time
does nothing but plug the drain
it'll all get through eventually
i get so mad at myself
i thought by now i would have had some sort of clarity
but its still the same thing
getting to this age isn't an accomplishment
its an embarrassment
all it says is 'you didn't try hard enough to die'
i was certain i would never get here
but here i am
burned out and paper thin
dejected and mistrustful
ready to pounce on the next f****r that looks me in the eye
cause everyone i see
is an annoyance to me

we live such hollow existences
but we don't know what else to do
so we get on our feet and move along
how are you supposed to find truth
when everything is such a f*****g joke
how are you supposed to find that one good thing
when everywhere around you, people are careless and arrogant
some a*****e got to all the good stuff before i did
its the story of my life
a hand-me-down life, full of patches and loose seems
you need to carry a sewing kit with you at all times
just to make it through a day

i see history repeating itself everyday, before my very eyes
i've seen it before, but no one believes me
they tell me to sit down and shut up
i feel the way my father used to look when i was a kid
hard and sore, worked to the bone
sun bleached hair, and dead eyes
angry as ever with the pilot light always lit in that internal furnace
its there if you need it
but god, what a cost
and every morning theres an ache in my soul
i still want to curl up and cry
but that wont make the people shut up
you have to walk among them in order for them to not pay attention to you
you have to pretend you are one and the same
and go home and cut away the little bit more of you that died

i see old men get older
and their eyes get colder
and i know they're just waiting to die
my father, his father
all muscle and bone
with an itch they can't scratch
so they stay busy cause it distracts them
why doesn't it work for me
why am i never distracted from it
no matter what i do
its always there
i can always feel it
even in the happiest moments of my life
i can feel it
waiting for my smile to fade
laughing cause it knows it cant be put away
im alive but i aint livin
er something like that