Big Fucking Problems
My fight or flight response is completely jacked
And I don’t know how to get the thing back
Working again, ‘cause all I got is a bike and a pen
I wanna buy drugs, but I gotta respect the ATM
If I was rich, I’d be just like Howard Hughes
A social recluse with too many painkillers to abuse
Anxiety runs rampant through my entire body
It’s gotten that bad I might need to retire coffee
It’s locked away trauma that I can’t easily access
And my backwards strategy is drinking to excess
It’s ironic, ‘cause I need sobriety to de stress
And this restlessness makes my life a living hell
Hate how I’m only enthusiastic when I’m unwell
Are these good ideas or hypomania? It’s hard to tell
But these turn out to be big fucking problems
And there’s no ready made blueprint to solve them
Feel like I’ve exhausted all the external inspiration
I’m writing poems outta boredom and desperation

© All Rights Reserved