i’m always tired but sleep won’t come—
a ****** paradox in the neon gloom.
i lie awake in this cold, honest bed,
clean for now, but who can trust that state?

the city moans its tired tune,
a chorus of broken dreams and whispered regrets.
they strut around, calling themselves proud,
but behind the smiles i see the cracks—
the lies, the masks, the slow decay
of all that’s left when reality bites.

i never sleep; my mind’s a relentless engine
rumbling toward another inevitable ****-up.
each morning is a promise of ruin,
each night a desperate bid for escape.
so why not get high, even just for a while,
to numb the ceaseless ticking of self-destruction,
to steal a few hours of peace
in this endless dance with the void?

i stumble through empty bars and midnight streets,
where cigarettes burn like small rebellions
against the weight of tomorrow.
i’m chasing that fleeting rest, a moment’s silence
amid the chaos, before the cycle snaps—
before i crash once more into the unforgiving light
of another **** day.

and so, with each lost second,
i float further into this bittersweet madness,
hoping, somehow, that tonight
i might just find the endlesss sleep
that always eludes my weary soul.