Verse 1
I stare at the ceiling like it pays my rent,
like overthinking counts as money well spent.
Static in the room but my head won’t quit,
every quiet second feels counterfeit.
I calculate worth in invisible debt,
interest on mistakes I don’t forget.
Every memory charged to my name,
late fees stacking up in shame.
I say I’m grinding, I say I’m aware,
but really I’m just living in repair.
Fixing problems nobody sees,
tightening screws that don’t need to be.
Even when I win, I audit the play,
find something wrong in the cleanest day.
Peace knocks once, I check its ID —
don’t trust anything that comes easy.
Hook
I don’t break loud, I depreciate,
slow decline I don’t calculate.
Smile outside, but inside thin —
paid in doubt, not dividends.
If I rest, I feel behind,
like stillness is a crime of mine.
So I stay up, stare at the light —
owe my thoughts another night.
Verse 2
I stare at the ceiling like it owes me sleep,
but sleep don’t come when the cuts run deep.
Every version of who I could’ve been
keeps knocking like “why aren’t you him?”
I chase better like it’s a race,
move the finish line every day.
Nothing’s enough, nothing sticks,
self-worth tied to analytics.
People say “you’re too hard on you,”
like I don’t already know it’s true.
But if I loosen even a bit,
I’m scared I’ll fall and that’ll be it.
So I hold tension like it’s control,
call it discipline, pay the toll.
If I’m tired, that’s the fee —
at least I know it’s on me.
Bridge (low, stripped)
If I’m quiet, it’s not defeat —
I’m just worn from competing with me.
No audience, no applause —
just me and the flaws I overcharge.
Final Hook
I don’t break loud, I depreciate,
steady decline I participate.
If tomorrow comes, I’ll play pretend —
like I’m not tired of living in my head.
Till that morning I’ll stay upright —
staring at ceilings under neon light.
Not healed.
Not bent.
Just here…
paying rent.
Grayscale253