All the Speed in Their Veins
I’ve seen the way the world sprints past, its heels grinding gravel into dust,
How every day the sun hauls itself up, clawing gold across their perfect skin,
And I’m left standing still in a puddle of my own goddamn shadow,
Glued to this pch of reality while everyone else has already made it three streets ahead,
Their laughter ricochets in the wind, some anthem for the beautiful, the reckless, the obsessed—
While my lungs twist up in barbed wire and my feet are made of dread.
I swallow down every morning’s stale hope, watch the emails, the calls, the need,
My dreams drag behind me like shredded banners on the edge of a ruined parade,
I’m choking on their victory speeches, their sun-bleached grins—
They’ve already mapped the heavens with their resumes and Instagram sins,
And my hands are empty, stripped down to bone, clutching nothing but unstarted things,
I keep rewriting to-do lists on paper that tears just from the ink.
They tell you to hustle, grind, never sleep—
But no one mentions how it feels when the world forgets you the starting line,
Or how shame rides shotgun, cold and sharp, as you pretend to care about their stories,
While your story sits in a locked drawer somewhere between regret and decline,
You nod and play along, as if you’re part of this sprint,
But inside you’re unraveling, every step heavier, every smile counterfeit.
I watch them leap, like wolves over fences, chasing the bloody scent of “more”,
While I count brehs in a waiting room, clock hands slicing away what I could’ve been,
Every finish line looks further away the closer I crawl,
And their cheers sound like unchanging, their applause just another language I never learned,
Sometimes I wish I could he them, envy burns hotter than love when you’re stuck in the rearview,
But all I have is this ache and the slow, stubborn pulse that keeps me moving even as I lose.
I watch the calendar fill with their milestones, see the lights on their party cakes—
I tell myself it’s fine to lag behind, that slow isn’t broken, it’s just mine,
But the night drips acid in my ear, whispering titles for failure that I can’t outrun,
And every morning, I still show up—barely, broken, late, still brehing,
In a world that doesn’t wait for anyone not already running,
And I wonder if there’s any finish line for people like me
Or if we just keep walking—alone, out of breath,
Dragging these dreams behind us through mud, through loss,
Holding on until the last runner turns out the lights,
And the world forgets the slow ones ever tried.
—
Ccontinue with song
I’ve seen the way the world sprints past, its heels grinding gravel into dust,
How every day the sun hauls itself up, clawing gold across their perfect skin,
And I’m left standing still in a puddle of my own goddamn shadow,
Glued to this pch of reality while everyone else has already made it three streets ahead,
Their laughter ricochets in the wind, some anthem for the beautiful, the reckless, the obsessed—
While my lungs twist up in barbed wire and my feet are made of dread.
I swallow down every morning’s stale hope, watch the emails, the calls, the need,
My dreams drag behind me like shredded banners on the edge of a ruined parade,
I’m choking on their victory speeches, their sun-bleached grins—
They’ve already mapped the heavens with their resumes and Instagram sins,
And my hands are empty, stripped down to bone, clutching nothing but unstarted things,
I keep rewriting to-do lists on paper that tears just from the ink.
They tell you to hustle, grind, never sleep—
But no one mentions how it feels when the world forgets you the starting line,
Or how shame rides shotgun, cold and sharp, as you pretend to care about their stories,
While your story sits in a locked drawer somewhere between regret and decline,
You nod and play along, as if you’re part of this sprint,
But inside you’re unraveling, every step heavier, every smile counterfeit.
I watch them leap, like wolves over fences, chasing the bloody scent of “more”,
While I count brehs in a waiting room, clock hands slicing away what I could’ve been,
Every finish line looks further away the closer I crawl,
And their cheers sound like unchanging, their applause just another language I never learned,
Sometimes I wish I could he them, envy burns hotter than love when you’re stuck in the rearview,
But all I have is this ache and the slow, stubborn pulse that keeps me moving even as I lose.
I watch the calendar fill with their milestones, see the lights on their party cakes—
I tell myself it’s fine to lag behind, that slow isn’t broken, it’s just mine,
But the night drips acid in my ear, whispering titles for failure that I can’t outrun,
And every morning, I still show up—barely, broken, late, still brehing,
In a world that doesn’t wait for anyone not already running,
And I wonder if there’s any finish line for people like me
Or if we just keep walking—alone, out of breath,
Dragging these dreams behind us through mud, through loss,
Holding on until the last runner turns out the lights,
And the world forgets the slow ones ever tried.
—
Ccontinue with song