I’m sick and tired and want to get better,
But what do you do when happiness is on the edge of never,
I press my face to the window and whisper to the rain,
It answers in silence, reminding me I’m the same.
My body is heavy, stitched from faded lace,
Perfume of old memories clinging to my face.
I want to run barefoot into the light of July,
But even the sunshine feels too fragile to try.
The mirror is cruel, it hums back my fears,
Lipstick can’t cover the weight of these years.
Every smile I practice dissolves into smoke,
Every promise of healing feels more like a joke.
If love was a record, I’d play the same song,
A lullaby of almosts that plays all night long.
I keep waiting for better, like it’s caught on a string,
But the closer I reach, the further it swings.
So I fold myself quiet in bedsheets of blue,
Dreaming of mornings where joy might come true.
Until then, I’ll live softly, a shadow in leather,
Asking what to do when happiness is on the edge of never.
Oct 6, 2025
Oct 6, 2025 at 10:44 AM UTC
I’m sick and tired and want to get better,
But what do you do when happiness is on the edge of never,
I press my face to the window and whisper to the rain,
It answers in silence, reminding me I’m the same.
My body is heavy, stitched from faded lace,
Perfume of old memories clinging to my face.
I want to run barefoot into the light of July,
But even the sunshine feels too fragile to try.
The mirror is cruel, it hums back my fears,
Lipstick can’t cover the weight of these years.
Every smile I practice dissolves into smoke,
Every promise of healing feels more like a joke.
If love was a record, I’d play the same song,
A lullaby of almosts that plays all night long.
I keep waiting for better, like it’s caught on a string,
But the closer I reach, the further it swings.
So I fold myself quiet in bedsheets of blue,
Dreaming of mornings where joy might come true.
Until then, I’ll live softly, a shadow in leather,
Asking what to do when happiness is on the edge of never.
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