Lyrics

I’m fine.
I’m totally—
No, wait.
No, I’m not.

Something’s off.
I can feel it.
Like the static in the room is crawling under my skin
and no one else notices.
Like reality forgot to tell me it changed clothes.

Was I happy this morning?
I think I was.
I think I loved everything.
The light through the blinds.
The way someone said my name.
The rhythm of my breath felt like poetry.

Now I want to shatter mirrors.
Not out of vanity—
but because I don’t want to see myself
become this thing
again.

I need to text them.
No—I shouldn’t.
If they wanted to talk to me, they would.
They’re ignoring me.
Why are they ignoring me?
Oh god, did I say something wrong?
What did I say?
I don’t remember.
Was it me?
It’s always me.
I’m too much.
Too loud. Too needy. Too everything.
Maybe if I apologize—
But I didn’t do anything.
Unless I did.
Did I?

God, you sound insane.
You sound so insane.

But no—no.
This is real.
This panic is real.
It’s not fake.
My chest is tight.
My heart’s a riot cop.
My thoughts are fireworks
but they’re all duds and smoke.

I hate everyone.
I want to vanish.
I want to scream at the next person who says “breathe.”
Don’t tell me to calm down.
I am calm.
This is what my calm looks like
when my insides are a haunted house
and I’m the ghost that won’t shut up.

I need to run.
Or hide.
Or cut my hair.
Or destroy something.
Or kiss someone I shouldn’t.
Feel something sharp.
Anything.
Just to prove I still exist.

Wait, wait.
I’ve got it.
The plan.
I’ll start fresh.
I’ll write a book.
Start a movement.
Become a legend.
No more fear.
No more apologies.
I am rebirth wrapped in chaos
and they will all remember me.

…Or maybe they won’t.
Maybe I’ll be forgotten by tomorrow.
Maybe I was never anything more than noise
in someone else’s quiet life.
Background static.
A glitch no one had time to debug.

Who even am I right now?

I don’t know if this is mania or trauma
or just the moment before I disappear again.

I wish someone could crawl inside my head
and read the footnotes
because I can’t make sense of this anymore.

I want help—
but I also want to burn the help to the ground
and dance on the ashes while sobbing.

I don’t want to die.
But I can’t live like this.
Not like this.
Not again.
Not me.