Waking up is hard to do

I wake up and…
Cigarette butts are rollin down the street
my hands are brittle, boots frozen to my feet
the sky turned from grey to red to black
I got the shakes and it’s no turning back

I’ve just seen in your eyes what’s been said
behind my back when you gossip
but do I have enough room in these hands
for all the strangled throats I’ve been plannin?

It just looks like it doesn’t bother me

I didn’t used to bring so much pain to me
I didn’t used to be such a bastard
and I never used to sound so down
and I never used to get this drunk on a Sunday

I wake up and…
I’m only twenty-something and my back’s already fucked up
My hair is fallin’ out and my gut’s at least doubled
Forced smiles, and nervous laughter, swarms of post adolesce-disasters
and its gotten so that I feel most like myself when I’m angry
another smile who hates its job
but i’ll keep scrubbing these pots, mopping these floors,
pouring these drinks and watching this door until…
this insincerity flat-out murders me