You’re right—
I’m just making excuses.
Why am I so 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥
All of the time?

“You get more sleep
Than 99 percent
Of your friends,”
You said.

So doesn’t that mean
I am supposed to be
Happy?

“Be happy,”
I say to myself
In my head.

I am supposed to be
Fine.

But I am not,
And all I have left
Is excuses.

And yet,
Why do I look for more?

I want somebody
To tell me
That you are not right.

But I know you are.

you reach out
but the journey is too far
and I have not the faith
to go the distance
the void between us
is a chasm I can't bridge
it's not you, it's me
all the old excuses
it is easier to be alone
than to try to share time
open some doors
push some boundaries
all this potential activity
is met with my weariness
of all the times
I've been let down before

Sorry but not sorry
For the things that I have done.
Sorry but not sorry
For all the pain under the sun.

　And all the longing to set ourselves apart
　From the will of the masses,
　Though we clearly stand as one.

　And the reticence to play our part
　In building on new bridges,
　Though we clearly need them now.

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short -
　　Sorry but not sorry
　　For writing off this song.

Sorry but not sorry
For all the excuses that I make.
Sorry but not sorry
For not owing back what we take.

　And all the mannerism along which we pretend
　To care so much about the future,
　Though we clearly act for our only sake.

　And the conflicting messages that we must send
　As we aim to **** the messenger,
　Though we clearly all covet his fame.

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short,
　　Sorry but not sorry,
　　For writing off this song.

Sorry but not sorry
For casting off one more blame.
Sorry but not sorry
For the ills that one must name.

　And all the finger-pointing with no concrete action
　As we forget the final hour,
　Though we clearly hear the call

　And all the conflicts that we set in motion
　As we bow to the god of power,
　Though it clearly draws our fall

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short,
　　Sorry but not sorry,
　　For writing off this song.

I cannot explain all the pathetic measures
my eyes will take to avoid your gaze,
all the paths my legs will journey to avoid bumping into you on my way home.
All the ways I knead my hands to the bone and all the toothpick excuses skewering my tongue.
And I cannot explain the way your presence deflates something inside my chest.
I don't know what to do with all that empty space. It echoes.
I fill it with the thimble's worth of pride that I scrape together,
every meager flake of validation I pick from the floor. I shovel slopping handfuls of sawdust
to try and soak up some of the shadows
but everything dissolves in that oily void, green and hideous.
God, it echoes, and everyone hears it.
I muffle it with my radio silence.
I look at you and I see everything I hate about myself
under a microscope.
Every blemish, every scar, every gaping hole
that you lack.
Stop, look. Here. Wrong.
Hear?
I blind myself with radio silence.
I don’t know how to live with an eternal reminder that I am incomplete.
You, and the place you hollowed without even knowing it.
Green and monstrous.
It echoes and everyone hears it.
I love you, but I cannot explain my radio silence.

You've filled your pretty head
With a million excuses and lies.
Stop wasting your breath;
I've seen and heard it all a million times.
Sorry, little boy,
but you're not as cute as you think.
You may think you're water in a desert,
But I'm not desperate enough to drink.
Because I may be lonely, but I'm not alone.