I ponder the root of the pain in my chest

I ponder whether I think that I know me best

I'd be fonder of the body I live in, if it didn't always beg me to rest

I'd be fonder of the world that I live in, if it didn't feel so much like a test

I question my mouth when I speak

I wonder if everything's bleak

I try to breathe deep as I try to interrogate my favorite day of the week

As I try to determine which feelings are new, and which ones are antique

And I finally take a step back

To see what I've done with my time

But I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

And none of it rhymes

In the drawers of my mind, remnants of mountains I've hiked

(Everything's crumbling, feels like I'm tumbling)

Do I want to be kind? Or do I just want to be liked?

(A brain always grumbling, internal mumbling)

For everything I choose to say, a hundred more are on their way

(What should I say? what matters today?)

For everything that's on its way, a thousand more for another day

I'll sort through the layers, but they tend to collapse at my touch

I'll sort through the rubble, surely there can't be too much

I have the tools to dig; I've learned to breathe the dirt

(I've learned to dig, I've learned to breathe the dirt)

I can't be bothered to come up for air

On days when I don't care if breathing hurts

Smothered by my own stare

Mothered by an instinct to care

(Eyes always watching, only me by my side)

Surrounded by dots, that beg to be collected

(Thinking any two points, can be connected with the right line)

I'll try to get to the bottom of just one pair

And then I'll be surprised when I get stuck there

Surrounded by dots, that beg to be connected

Till the dots disappear and they move and they fill up my eyes

(I'll over-explain till it all seems absurd)

Till I have to lie down with only myself to advise

(Filling any silence with words)

When I finally take a step back

To see what I've done with my time

I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

And none of it rhymes

You'd think from rock bottom, at least you'd be forced to look up

But I stare at my feet on the cold rocky ground

And I don't make a sound while the wheels in my head turn around

I'd like to think that each breakthrough will loosen things up

(To make me some room, to build something new)

But what if all of the pieces of walls, that used to confine

Are even more slippery to climb

I finally take a step back

To see what I've done with my time

But I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

And none of it rhymes

I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

I only see scribbles

But I can force it to rhyme