plateu'd

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 every 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 fucker 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 fucking joke

how are you supposed to find that one good thing

when everywhere around you, people are careless and arrogant

some asshole 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