Plastic boxes Filled with bullshit That I need to fill my home with. Second chances In the vague unspecific sense I don't know what I want, but it's not this. I can't comprehend how these things work. I wish I could, but the truth hurts. Young, broke, naive, and clueless. No one cares, what did I miss? Wait don't tell me, Wait don't tell me, It's about to get good. Wait don't tell me, Wait don't tell me, It's about to get good. Pockets empty, like a bad dream. Callused, ugly. Off brand, sulking. Always sleeping. Overwhelming. I think it's nothing, It's always nothing.