How are you?
How am I?
I really don't want you to ask
Because I don't even know how
Im supposed to answer that
I cant remember the last time
I've been happy
Im only ever less sad
Less sad, less sad, or distracted by
People, by friends, less sad
Distracted by pain
By fear
By rage
By the mindless questions I'm asked like,
"How are you today"
I can never say how I really am
Because nobody cares, nobody cares
Nobody cares about how anyone really is
It's a mechanical interaction, a routine
If you will
"How are you?"
"I'm good, how are you?"
"Good!"
Then we move on with our day
But how am I really?
I told you, I don't fucking know
I feel messy and wrong and agitated and hurt
Hurt by the knives in my head, in my hands
Hurt by the words so minor
They were never meant to hurt
Slipping through the cracks
Of the armor around my heart
