THE MORNING AFTER [Verse 1] I woke up with a hatred I can’t put into language, Like I lost the only war that I thought I could vanquish, Staring at the ceiling while the daylight came crashing, Everybody calls it living, I was calling it lasting. I don’t want your pity, I don’t need your condolences, Don’t hand me empty phrases dressed up like they’re supposed to fix Everything that’s broken underneath the surface, I’ve been carrying a storm so long I barely know the person. I remember thinking, finally, it’ll all be quiet, Now I’m sitting in the aftermath, furious I’m inside it, No cinematic ending, no beautiful revelation, Just another fucking morning and another confrontation. With myself. That’s the part nobody sees, The enemy ain’t outside, it’s the voice underneath, Every breath feels borrowed, every thought has teeth, And I’m sick of being trapped inside the war that I keep. [Verse 2] I’ve become an expert at pretending I’m stable, Put a smile on my face, put my pain underneath the table, Then I get alone and every buried thought awakens, Like the walls know my secrets and the darkness knows my name. I’ve spent years making promises I couldn’t keep, Telling everybody I’m fine while I’m losing sleep, Then the night gets quiet and the mask gets weak, And the thoughts I never say become the loudest thing I hear. I don’t wanna romanticize the damage I’ve done, There was nothing beautiful about wanting to become nothing, No lesson in the suffering, no prize at the end, Just me trying to outrun a mind I couldn’t outrun again. And now I’m left with questions I don’t know how to answer, Why does part of me want peace while another part still stands here? Why does something underneath all this fucking resentment Keep dragging me toward another minute when I swear that I don’t want it? [Verse 3] Maybe I’m not hopeful, maybe I’m just unfinished, Maybe there’s a piece of me I haven’t fucking diminished, Maybe every time I thought the final page was written, Something underneath the wreckage kept resisting the ending. So I put it in the music. Every thought I couldn’t speak, Every night I disappeared, Every version underneath. Let the bass carry the anger, Let the drums sound like panic, Let the verse tell the truth Without making the tragedy romantic. I don’t need to call it beautiful, I don’t need to call it fate, I can say I fucking hated it And still admit I’m here today. No victory speech. No halo. No pretending I’m repaired. Just a man staring at the morning Wondering why he’s still there. And maybe that’s the only line I can honestly give tonight: I don’t know what comes next. I just know the story didn’t end.
