My heart tells me I'm alive, but am I really living?
In a world full of takers, what am I actually giving?
A half-mast, half-assed, half-empty cup of ****.
Masked in awkward silence and sharp pointed wit.

I'll blame it on the others, say they aren't the same.
When I haven't given reason to remember my name.
Because it's easier to mask the fact that I'm a wreck.
By simply hiding on the wall like a speck.

Doubt and remorse will eventually take it's course.
I'm seeking inspiration, but am blind to it's source.
Hindrance and distraction caused by my reaction,
To the vices that provide me with cheap satisfaction.

Maybe I should simply just give it all away.
Leave town, just drive, without a word to say.
But that would be easy, with admitting defeat.
Another cycle of life that's stuck on repeat.