all my fucking songs turn into the most literal pieces of garbage ever like fuck why can't anything i write leave anything to the imagination i am going to rip out every single hair on my body

mama used to say to me, "go make friends,"
and i talked away from strangers.
guess it really just depends
on heeded dangers.

and i'm cryin' in my room 'cause i don't speak right,
have i lost my apprehension?
auto-pilot, fight or flight
without contention -

i have only one hello,
and i'd hate to see it broken -
i ran out so long ago,
too often spoken.

i have so many "goodbyes",
"see you soon"s that turned to lies,
but i have only one hello
left to go.