The Shit And The Fan Are Now More Than Aquainted

Thank god for this sort of humiliation
for always letting me know my place:
knee deep in problems i create.
knee deep in feelings i can't make
subside or just go the fuck away.
what the fuck is wrong with me?
i don't need a drink and i don't feel like getting high.
i just wanna crawl into a fucking hole and die.
do me the simple favor of not trying to cheer me up.
stop telling me what i'd wanna hear, because everything is fucked.
hello pavement, i've missed you so.
you're the only place that truly feels like home.