No, You see I know
I already know
My faults, my atrocities
I trace them at night
I run my fingers through them
And catch their edges
As if they were the keys
To these rusty old things
That I locked away long ago
They are the ghosts
Those things so close
I couldn't cut them away in fear
That I would cut myself
Yet they whisper things
And in the darkness I listen
You see I trace their edges
Like a crime scene to tell me where they lie
Yet I am the one struggling
With these wisps of demons
I know my faults
And I'm afraid they have become me.