I'm not ready to make it real yet, not ready to make it tangible yet
I don't even know what it is yet, I'm just certain that I'm frigthened
I convince myself that it isn't sacred,
That it has nothing to do with my faith
I convince myself that it'll go away and I'll be able to escape
Truthfully though, I don't even know what to do
Truthfully though, I don't want to allow myself to say it out of the blue
It could burn the images I've tried to build
Burn the comfort I've succeeded to achieve
With a fire vibrating shades of orange and red
Dismissing all the tears I've shed
But with that pool of purple, I wouldn't know how to handle it
I'd be rewarded with courage
But would still be bitter about the wounds, the damage
I don't even know what it is yet, I'm just certain that I'm scared
I don't know of what or of who,
Of how or of when
But I just know that I think about it until the days end
It shouldn't be so complicated and yet, here I am,
Incapable of admitting to myself who I really am