When you're lost with no destination,
Conflicted as to which is the "right" path,
And trying to be proud of where you're coming from,
You begin to feel like the whole world is fighting you.
But unfortunately,
You hung up your gloves what seems like years ago
Because you knew that all fighting gets you is a mouthful of blood

The tears you'd promised yourself you'd hold in drip down your fuming cheeks.
So, you take them.
The punches, that is.
Why?
Because you deserve them
Or, at least you feel like you do…

Maybe it's because the pain is the only thing you're sure about anymore.
Or because you've blown away every last wish you've ever had with a dandelion.
Because you are legitimately invisible to the one you love so much it hurts
Because you make yourself invisible.
You'd put a bullet through your throat.

Either way, you take each individual blow.
You choke on it.
You can't breath.
You're drowning... above water.
I'm sorry to say, but all the lifeguards are too busy saving those who's lives are worth it.

But, why isn't yours "worth it?"
Shouldn't it be?
Well, they don't think so.
Who are they?
I think you should ask them for yourself…
But they'll never confess to who they really are.

They are the judges, the critics.
The world to put it simply.
They claim you're the one with the issues, but you know that it's they who need rescuing.
You're both drowning.

But, they push down on you in order to float
Because that's how physics works.
You're both gasping, lungs burning,  living but wishing you were dying.

And you pray.
Because praying is different than wishing.
Dreaming.
When you pray, you know there’s absolutely nothing left that you can do.
It’s out of your power.
But, where is your God now?
You pray to something you can’t see or feel, but you can’t afford to wait.
You’re done.
It’s not up to you anymore.

And that’s when the little white pieces begin to fly.
The little white pieces of you.
The little white pieces of your soul.
They rise, as if victorious, and float up to who knows where to do who knows what.
You don’t know.
You’re done.
But the feather wisps of your soul are carried away
Along with you, and what you were to become.