It's those long nights,
waiting for the sun to rise.
Waiting and praying,
for it to come a little quicker.
The black keeps getting blacker,
and I'm falling
out,
     out,
          out,
               and up.
Which will rise first?
The sun or my soul?

I can feel the pull,
a gentle tug with every shallow breath,
gentle but sharp.
Every word,
like a knife,
a little more pressure every time,
agonizingly slow.

Plunge it into my heart,
push it deeper,
push it all away.
These long nights,
I just wanna push,
and when it falls,
the moon from the sky,
so will I,
so will I.

Then the sun will rise,
and I'll be ****** to do it again.
I can feel a tug,
gentle but sharp.