I keep letting my friends down with the advice to not give up.
I think I say it because I'm selfish; I think I lie for the crutch
because I've grown too confused - I can't tell if I even care
enough to hold on to anything except the past, to tiny fractures of truth.
I think the saddest thing is that by removing myself from everything I think I'll change.
I think I'll find some sort of place that isn't doomed to draw me
into a life that won't fulfill me.
I take all my cues from these nihilistic points of view, but they write.
They're hypocrites - if there is no such worth, then what's the point of trying?
Why are we wasting sleep? It's in my mantra: I don't know.
If this feels unspecific it's just caused by how foreign I feel to every past emotion I have had,
because apathy - you still feed on me, endlessly.
Now I feel this jealousy, I swear it runs right inside of me. I keep losing my own love.
You were right to leave and I am wrong to write and if you hear or read this I apologize,
but I still think that you should know:
there's no point in trying to forget the past.
I am a pillar of salt, and I will always look back.
Disappointed. Too familiar. Forever yearning, always trapped.
I know why I spent three years running away -
I don't care about today, always fearing yesterday.
I think of tomorrow like the idea was absurd -
memories sting but in my head, I can find a cure.
I define purpose by how much something hurts
so I drove three hours to embrace
how your city looks but my mistakes,
you know they never get old -
and Providence, you never felt so cold.
I'm familiar. Unfamiliar.
I think I say it because I'm selfish; I think I lie for the crutch
because I've grown too confused - I can't tell if I even care
enough to hold on to anything except the past, to tiny fractures of truth.
I think the saddest thing is that by removing myself from everything I think I'll change.
I think I'll find some sort of place that isn't doomed to draw me
into a life that won't fulfill me.
I take all my cues from these nihilistic points of view, but they write.
They're hypocrites - if there is no such worth, then what's the point of trying?
Why are we wasting sleep? It's in my mantra: I don't know.
If this feels unspecific it's just caused by how foreign I feel to every past emotion I have had,
because apathy - you still feed on me, endlessly.
Now I feel this jealousy, I swear it runs right inside of me. I keep losing my own love.
You were right to leave and I am wrong to write and if you hear or read this I apologize,
but I still think that you should know:
there's no point in trying to forget the past.
I am a pillar of salt, and I will always look back.
Disappointed. Too familiar. Forever yearning, always trapped.
I know why I spent three years running away -
I don't care about today, always fearing yesterday.
I think of tomorrow like the idea was absurd -
memories sting but in my head, I can find a cure.
I define purpose by how much something hurts
so I drove three hours to embrace
how your city looks but my mistakes,
you know they never get old -
and Providence, you never felt so cold.
I'm familiar. Unfamiliar.