I'm always tired.
I'm always at least half asleep.
Blemish and state how I don't feel great now.
I don't hang out in her hair.
I don't wonder if she cares.
I lay awake now, I entertain my plans
To one day miraculously be talkative and likable,
To wake up as someone else, someone I know is inside of me,
Just waiting to be put to use by something much more sharp than us.
They pry out every f**ing piece and still they're coming around again.