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