If we were made to write down our thoughts
and to draw out our pains
I'd have nothing to write
nothing to say
I'd stare at the paper, as you asked me why
I'd say sorry for something I couldn't explain
not to you, and not to them
these things are to be said and forgotten
a way to keep together, a way not to lose it
And if I could move again, i'd move my hand
to lift up the pencil, my body feeling like sand
Height continued to increased as they forced me to mark
down my problems, happiness, and skills
but what emerged became scribbles
to turn the paper black
the thing that I swore to you
I promise wasn't there, it was just the sense I lacked
If I were to explain how to say the words
I would choke on myself, to turn into ash
that's all that would remain