Tomorrow.

I had a bad day, except I didn't.

I've had a bad life, except I haven't. 

Nothing went wrong with me, nothing went wrong with my day or my life. 

So why do I feel so desolate and hopeless?

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day.

It's so hard to try, to hold on.

I've spent years narrowly avoiding an early grave. 

Finding clever workarounds, quick fixes. 

It's all so pointless, 

fighting to see the light of another day just like this one,

and the next one, and the next one. 

It's always tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'll change, I'll start looking, start fixing. 

It's never tomorrow.

These promises, they're impulses. 

Changeable.