Fuck your jazz clubs and false idols
That died on mounds of cocaine
Shaming me for not hearing notes I haven't played
I didn't quit like you wanted but you're still to blame
I'm a disappointment to more than myself
I'm spiteful and hateful and think everything's lame
But maybe life's just a pointless project
Nothing or something, always feels the same
Now I cannot think straight
My bitterness has led me astray
I know I'm no better
In a sense I have not improved
Maybe routine would've made this worth it
Another year out of practice
But I don't want to give up
Focus more on my writing
Like refusing progression makes me cool
In reality I'm just lazy
Simple and cynical, a detriment to my self
If everything is easy
Maybe it's not difficult enough
I don't meet my expectations
For some reason, I still feel proud
Now I cannot think straight
My bitterness has led me astray
I know I'm no better
Forming a habit never seemed this challenging
Especially when it's for something you enjoy
I don't think I'll be able to do it
And maybe that's okay
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