don't ask me how i am i don't like that fucking question
you wouldn't know what to answer, you'll think its an aggression
i know its easier to just say fine, i never learn my lesson
if i could skip out on all the small talk, that would be a goddamn blessing
seventeen to eighteen weeks, i slip again into depression
stupid hard to even talk about, too hard to even mention
watch me sleep for thirty weeks, in an attempt to kick the tension
once again all in my head, a maze made of perception
staring into the goddamn mirror, and i don't see my own reflection
these fractals all over my face, span out into sucession
if we go back to two years ago, would you call that a regression?
he asked for sex then ghosted, i lost all of my affection
was that last line a confession? i was supposed to keep discretion
what with him having a girl for three years at the time of the "exception"
phoning me after months of silence to set up a goddamn session
maniac depressed and taking pills, does that worsen the transgression
did you know i wouldn't refuse and in fact wouldn't even question?
well they seem pretty happy now, they can have my goddamn blessing
ask for sex then ghost me, after twelve years of fucking friendship
everything is dancing and i dip my fucking pen tip
i don't have much of an incentive, to be fucking inauthentic
mostly i'm just trynna cope, so i segment it and dissect it
to trace over the wound, twelve years of something friendship
all things must end and die, i don't presume to prevent it