the art of fucking up

I know where i'm going
Nowhere that i'm getting fast
I know so much i think i shouldn't even have to ask
But i like to dwell
Survive in spite of self
Imagine life as what it's like as i'm my higher self
I don't use hope to cope cuz if i did i'd be a liar
Making tough decisions, be myself or be inspired
I write about, everything i usually lie about
Or omit or, cut to some other shit
Am i in love with it
Or just enough outta touch with it
To be what i imagine
Rather than what it actually
Isn't it? sorta like dissonance?
Living life for the moments that dissipate into instances?
And intuition aint been saving me lately
It's been driving me crazy
Mind racing and i'm outta shape
Pacing in and outta place
Impatient enough to wait

If lean was a lil cheaper
I'd be a heavier sleeper
But now i'm wide awake and debating whether i need it
Far as my day to day i been taking it by the second
but now i got my past and future dueling within the present
Fear of social rejection got me scared to make connections
Or form some sort of presence outside of what's been projected
This isn't depression, this is self-assessment
This combined a little with all the cripples of recollection
Slight dejection cuz it's nothing i can do about it
I pull my own card just to prove i'm hardbody
But i'm hard pressed trying not to make a mess
I got it on my hands
I'm trying not to smear it
Spend it all alone, then you'll see how long a year is
Spend it in competition, then you'll see how much you're missing
Mention it enough and they'll think that you're giving up
But they won't call for help, they're all a little lost themselves
Playing possum starts to cost when you don't have a shell
don't think i'll ever tell how much i do to prove i don't
Don't think nobody'd notice if i ever lost my phone
Lotta shit to atone
Little bit at a time
Living life pretending life isn't just meant for dying
Don't call it nihilism, call it disbelief suspended
It's not gon hurt you just as long as you believe it isn't
Don't give a reaction
That gives it satisfaction
The saddest part is as an artist never dropping classics
I thought of dropping classes but i'm scared of having passion
Or being seen as a dreamer rather than a fragment
(Figment) of imagination missing
Sometimes i talk to myself
Sometimes i'm scared to listen
Sometimes i call out for help, it comes out as a whisper
Can you hear it?
A lil clearer