Shifting Gears

The end of the road is a perilous place

The end still hasn’t come and the road gloats in my face

Waking up many mornings, I’ve just begun to question

How I’ve managed to make it this far… At this point I’m guessing

Sometimes I start thinking, I can’t believe the time is here

I always figured I’d be gone before this juncture was clear

Like the car of life would keep going and I’d coast in the seat in the back

Of course I’ve had ambitions, but I guess I never felt I’d have to get to all of that

When are my parents going to retire?

Or will they work themselves to death to avoid dependency

The same way that I hope to?

Will my work ever inspire?

Or will I just let down the people who poured their time into me 

Because they were wrong too?

And now we’re at the point where I’m having to come up with answers

When is this happening? I have to craft my footwork like a dancer

There are milestones I had thrown out so far in the future

Now I’m twenty-five and knowing they’re looming is the only thing I’m sure

About

Still not clear on the route

So I want to stop the car and shout

Can you just let me out?!

Not because I want to die

But I feel like I’m lost in time

How the hell did we get so far along in the ride?

I didn’t get to catch the scenery

Wasn’t sure what to look for

It seemed like so much of it was fantasy

And most of my days have been dream-poor

A cog in the machine, producing work on top of work

With nothing to show for it, and doubting my self-worth

And now the stop sign on my inside is coming into view

My brain is realizing there’s not much left in the way of fumes

“Fake it till you make it” has always been the motto

And I’ve hidden behind my work as if I’ve lived in the bat’s grotto

Pouring over work for hours with the outside walled by a cave

Hoping the effort will wring me out and in sleep I’ll be saved

But what now? Where do I go?

And more importantly, how the hell do I even get there?!