It’s the mosquito in my ear
begging and begging and begging
To finally die as I hold it wings
and it gorges herself on blood

It’s an excuse
A facade
There’s a itch in my jaws
and a lump in my bones
and I’ll keep scratching into viscera
Citing bites and weather and dengue fever

We’re sick sick sick to the core
Mundane and boring and normal
I’m sick sick sick of walking
And never dreaming about more

I better ace that interview
I better ace that interview
I’m never better than I think I am
I better ace that interview

Riddle me this oh superstar
What do you do when you loose your car
When you’re left with your two feet deep in a ditch
When you never even left the start

My paint only dries when I’m all alone
The varnish only yellows when I talk
The only hands I hold are the one on a clock
With my glass slipper crushed on the rocks

Time and tide waits for none.
I wish I wasn’t so dumb.
I feel too much, but I can't handle even one.
I wish I was special, but that won't happen, son!
I wish I was perfect, but this fake pretense makes me succumb.

My body feels stiff, and I break a cold sweat.
I’m not afraid of people,
but my body says otherwise.

That gut-wrenching nausea whenever I leave my room.
That vexing sensation every time I sit to dine.
That suffocating lump in my throat every time I’m yelled at—it shines.
That teary eye every time I had to defend my lines.

I wish I could lead you to my mind.
I wish I could lead you to my mind.

The constant naggings and whispers.
The feeling of never being enough.
The existential dread.

I hate it all.
I hate it all.

Call it self-pity.
Call it self-victimizing.
And I won’t even call you out.

I’m just happy you don’t have to feel what I feel.
I’m just having a random crashout.
I mean, gotta do something, right?
For stayin’ alive?

I’m sorry, but I feel Nervous.

                                                                            - Asher Graves