One night of the many, I sobbed in my bathroom floor praying at the carpet.
I threw up on my feet and started flirting with the toilet.
Should I never have let you in? It is too late to think of it.
Am I losing my mind for none of it? You think it is.
Oh my! You sent me such a dream craft-maker
To put up some walls against my terrible condition.
I tried, but it is just so tired being behind a runner
I never asked or never dreamed but I'm losing it on drinks
I courtesy smile at everyone who knows me thanks to you.
Why do they keep asking me about how the hell are you?
My silly wishful thinking speaks for me, no sense, I'm stuck
How can I end what's in my mind, dirties my soul, still holds my heart?
You lied! Dumb stupid master manufacturer of illusions
My dear magician disappearing out of my sight
I'm so fine! That I might go with my therapist after getting over us
Dear melancholia, the truest friend I ever find
You, an almost-done, almost graduated architect-trash.
My words were useful to accomplish all your dreams.
My nights were worth it to find your missing piece.
My sanity was enough to drain enough to help yours to stay fit.
