Poor fucker meets 19

I watch that poor fucker all the time

She sits alone and counts the hours

Turns the same thoughts over and over

Like she’s afraid they’ll lose their power

I watch that poor fucker all the time

Could watch her for hours and days

So incredibly patient at a task

That ultimately means nothing anyway

She calls it surviving

I call it routine

She swore there’d never be a nineteen

I said I’d be dead by sixteen

Now nineteen’s staring back at me

Everyone’s asking what comes next

Like I’ve got some grand philosophy

But I’m still that poor fucker

Still pacing holes through my mind

Still waiting for something to happen

Still wasting everybody’s time

She keeps old predictions in her pocket

Like receipts she can’t throw away

Every year she gets a little older

And a little less certain what to say

I watch that poor fucker all the time

She makes it look easy somehow

Like carrying ghosts is normal

Like they don’t weigh her down

Maybe she thought the story ended

Maybe I thought it too

Maybe that’s why every birthday feels

Like somebody else’s proof

‘Cause she’s still here

I’m still here

And neither of us knows what to do

I watch that poor fucker all the time

Could watch her for hours and days

So incredibly patient at a task

That ultimately means nothing anyway

And if she’s me, then that’s the joke

Nineteen years and nothing’s changed

Still learning how to be alive

Still trying to step outside the frame

Still that poor fucker.