Ballad From the Bottom

I used to pray for peace of mind,

Now I pray the voices fight.

Therapist said, “Try to journal,”

So I carved my name into the urinal.

I’ve been clean for three whole days—

Still dream of pills and sideways praise.

I laugh so loud I drown the screams,

And I sleep with guilt tucked in my jeans.

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They say rock bottom builds you up…

But I built a throne out of the dust.

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This is my ballad from the bottom—

No hope, no fix, just the hurt I got in.

It ain’t pretty, but it’s mine to sing—

Like a funeral with guitar strings.

So light me up, I’m already rotten—

Raise a glass to the pain I’ve forgotten.

You want truth?

Here’s every scar I’ve got ‘em—

This is my ballad…

From the fucking bottom.

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I kissed a girl to feel alive,

Then ghosted her before sunrise.

Told my mom I’m doing fine,

While I bled out on another line.

They say “you’re strong, you’re such a fighter,”

But they don’t see me choke the lighter.

This smile’s stitched with razor thread—

And every song’s a note I never said.

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Don’t pity me, I made this bed—

With empty bottles and things unsaid.

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This is my ballad from the bottom—

Where angels leave and demons blossom.

I scream in chords, I drown in sound—

Each note’s a grave I never found.

So play me loud, until I’m forgotten—

Just one more name that pain has gotten.

And if I fall, then fall full throttle—

This is my ballad…

From the fucking bottom.

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“Are you okay?”

…you really wanna know?

I wrote this song instead of letting go.

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This is my ballad from the bottom—

No redemption, just what’s honest.

Scream my name in distortion and smoke—

Let the record skip until I choke.

No peace, no clean, no fucking stardom—

Just a mess with a melody…

From the fucking bottom.