You said you’d call when the sky turned clean
But the static came first, and the in-between
I checked every pocket for something to say
But the matches were damp, and the words ran away
The blinds cut the morning into strips of gray
And the cat’s in the window just watching decay
I tried to go out but the air felt fake
Like a song that forgets its own chorus halfway
So I sleep on the ceiling, I don’t touch the floor
There’s nothing below me I haven’t ignored
I hum when I’m nervous, I talk when I lie
I promised I’m fine — I don’t know why
The mirror’s too kind to the version of me
That smiles like a trick and bleeds like a plea
I keep my regrets in a coffee can
With the names I’ve erased from the back of my hand
So I sleep on the ceiling, I float past the lights
Pretending the cracks are just stars out of sight
I tune out the voices, I sharpen the sigh
I promised I’m fine — and I didn’t cry
There’s a song in the carpet, there’s dust in my plans
There’s a hole in the wall where I buried my hands
If silence’s golden, I’m burning for change
But the gold just reflects all the things I won’t name
So I sleep on the ceiling and dream out of tune
With a pocket of pills and a postcard of June
If someone still calls me, I’ll try not to hide
I promise I’m fine —
But I might have lied