Is singing for a little happiness such a wrong thing for me to do? It seems like everywhere I turn those aches in my chest grow, I'm not compatible for this world. The shadows envelop my eyes and my groans are more audible, all those tiny lights I once used to reach for have scattered in the wind.
Maybe it's how my eyes pace around the room or how my legs never still that gives away who I am, they all must know my stance. I've been lost for a long time. Where I am is strange, so I must get ready again to do this awful dance.
Take a look at me not for what's on my face and never for my history. Do not read my name aloud, just it's sound alone still stings. Instead I'd rather hear something of more substance. Time and time again my lips refuse to move, but I'm looking for a way to speak my heart into existence.