When you're feeling better than yesterday
The liquid sugary syrup on your fingers dries before you wash it
And the feeling of nothing feels like an old song you heard somewhere on MTV
Or somewhere hidden behind a magazine same as the one you read yesterday but different
When you are not saddened by the dead in people
Other times when it's not unbearable to hear them sing
When you feel free to ask, and borders are clay that the child in you could tear apart
Yet you sit tight over distance, hovering your eyes over the dry wall
And counting sheep or rage against some machine without feelings.
Feb 9
Feb 9, 2026 at 3:45 AM UTC
When you're feeling better than yesterday
The liquid sugary syrup on your fingers dries before you wash it
And the feeling of nothing feels like an old song you heard somewhere on MTV
Or somewhere hidden behind a magazine same as the one you read yesterday but different
When you are not saddened by the dead in people
Other times when it's not unbearable to hear them sing
When you feel free to ask, and borders are clay that the child in you could tear apart
Yet you sit tight over distance, hovering your eyes over the dry wall
And counting sheep or rage against some machine without feelings.
