Things I Panic About

I've got an arsenal of daggers
I've been keeping up my sleeve
And the sharpest words are in my mouth
Just kicking off my teeth

All good things end badly
If they ever end at all
But if everything's eventual
Why should I stall?

Thoughts go in but they don't come out
Until I'm talking in my sleep

(I'm not scared of being wrong
No, I'm just scared of never being right)

All my friends are aching
Over something in the way
I am too but inevitably
Everything is gonna be okay
Whatever that means
What the fuck does that mean?

And the trash can is filled to the brim
With coffee filters and apple cores
And the bottom is lined with broken glass
From allegories and metaphors
That don't help anybody anyway