I think I'm okay.
My eyes are wide awake,
  as I lay in the place in which I chose to end my yesterday.

I feel as if I should be anxious,
  but I'm not, 'cause if I stop long enough to worry
  I may just leap from the ledge of this apartment building.

It sounds sorta thrilling...
  but I bet a million that my blood, and my teeth, and my bones on the street,
  are all very far from filling...
And if I made it alive,
  I wouldn't survive the outlandish hospital billing.

They keep telling me that everything will be alright.
I just wish that all rights didn't eventually turn into a left,
  because I'm sick of leaving things behind.

My two-sided mind is always changing.
I'm constantly re-arranging the furniture that is my thought process,
  and the room's a manic mess.