Time and time again my head reaches for the kindness of my pillow
But what's the use of sleeping when there's nothing to wake up for
Instead of my head, the prints of fists are cast in this pillow
The last tangible residue of the loss of self control
While I hate to be affected it's hard to admit it doesn't leave me untouched after all
In the midst of the essence I flee, sacrifice the true intention to save a fearless moment
How clear doe you want it?
The compulsive waste of talents, safely tucked away behind excuses
But who am I to fool myself?
I've wasted more than I deserved