face down, again
buried in my bedsheets
headache seeping through my tv screen
it seems a little weird that my daydreams are far less realistic than the ones that i have when i'm asleep
holding onto heartbreak like hands we used to hold
a familiar strike against the senses, like stories you left untold
that i knew you didn't know that i knew them
and i still don't really feel like you have to

the only question left to ask is how did this happen?
what do i need to say to make things change?
and the matter of the fact is i hate that i'm like this, but what can i do?
i always hoped you wouldn't notice how much time i've wasted
on lonesome nights inside, i gaze my eyes
at the mirror looking just as hopeless as i do at this moment
i guess it's no surprise

i need to put more faith in myself
confess i wrote the letter i put on yourself
quit overcompensating for how numb i felt
denounce decisions i mistakenly thought would help
admit that there are things that i just can't control
use all this dirt to fill up every gaping hole
escape to a place that i can call my home, where i'm never alone
because you're never gone

because this isn't sustainable, just constantly walking in circles
until my legs give in, proceed to rub raw the skin on my shins from crawling on concrete again
it never ends.