It’s me on my old bed— too low to the ground
Each day it’s harder for me to climb out
A yellowed mattress. A deeper indent
I keep flipping it over and over again
Like a fucking film school shot framed in the mirror
Pulling out the two greys in my beard
Shave it off like I can disappear
I’ve done nothing the past ten years

It’s just like me to take a swing
And disagree with everything
Condescend, but I am nothing
A lesson to be learned
“You might wake up, but you’ll never be better, than this...”

Pushing thirty and still playing house shows
Waking up on beer soaked floors alone
Hoping we’d take it further this time
But I don’t know how to stay in line
I bump my head and come down
The same as my shit friends on the bright of a Sunday
Hoping that next year will be better
Than growing out of another sweater

“You might wake up, but you’ll never be better
You might come through, but you’ll always second guess
You might breathe free, but you’ll never stop pacing
You might find love, but you’ll always be depressed
You might change your hair, but you’ll always look awkward
Your back might heal, but you’ll never get your rest
You might move on, but you’ll never feel important
You might be fine, but you’ll never be your best
So when you wake up
And know you’ll never be better –
Hide under your sheets
Your room will always be a mess.”