I’m losing confidence as each day passes by,
Carrying a weary heart, only numbers speak sense.
One, two, three.
How much time has passed?
It feels like I’ve been staring at my bedroom wall a little too much.
I turned twenty the other day,
Unlike before, my eyes were dry–
Just like a stale birthday cake.
Four, five, six…
I can’t figure out which is worse.
Has it been a week? Or maybe two?
If anything else, I’m glad I learned to count in school.
Hurry up, my mind is turning into dust, my sanity’s on the verge of mistrust.
Seven, eight, nine.
Am I really here? Is that person really me?
My eyes were open again this morning,
I don’t know if I should be glad–I’m thinking too much.
Listen, dear heart, were you really this weak?
Ten. I reached ten. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?
Maybe the truth is, I’m at the beginning. The start. Zero.