Work Week

It's a work week filled with regret There are clouds surrounding my head And all the stupid conversations Made with the people that I'm hating Make me feel so unrelatable, dead It's a nail placed under my bed It keeps me up to the ceiling and back And I can't help but think of babies A house, and a vacation And all the things I never said I'm not up to the feeling again It's a wretched sense of loneliness And I get sick to my stomach Watching TV with the cousins That I never ever really had I'm burning red and I can't breathe There's no air left inside my lungs I'd like to take you to the atmosphere So that I'm not the only one It's sad to watch you through The looking glass of an aching heart