If I could cry a river, I’m sure you would drown,
if I opened the door, you’d see a world upside down.
If you knew the place where I sit and I think,
you’d pull up a chair and pour yourself a stiff drink.
If you heard what I don’t say out loud,
how silence can roar, how quiet is loud,
you’d smile like it’s simple, say that’s just life,
then step away gently, avoiding the knife.
If you felt the weight of the hours I wear,
the nights that collect in the back of a prayer,
you’d loosen your laughter, soften your tone,
and learn some battles are fought alone.
If you knew the honesty behind the words,
how truth comes fractured, shaken, and blurred,
you’d stop trying to fix, to frame, to explain,
and sit with the storm instead of the rain.
I don’t need a savior, I don’t need a crown,
I don’t need you to swim if I’m going to drown.
Just don’t swallow the silence and call it the same
some doors open inward, some pain has no name.
You don't need Mountains to crush a broken heart,
their weight decides where endings will start.
Sometimes they lead you to the end,
sometimes to where beginnings they bend.
The words inside run far too deep,
deeper than ink was meant to keep
for what is written on the page
is only echo, not the cage.