i still see her dead in the grave i dug
in a forest i wasn't allowed to find
made to kneel for men of strength
made to kneel for men like you

and i am told that when i smile
i give hope to other people
so why can't i find a way
to give it to myself
why is it,
when left here all alone
i do my best
to push the good out for the bad
to make room for all the pain
like i am back there all again
like i wasn't made for healing
but the truth is that i'm ripping sutures out
just to keep myself here, bleeding
making sorrow for myself

how selfish have i been
to say that this was more than i can take
when i have already moved away
when i am free from all the pain
that kept making me this way

how selfish i have been
to say that i would've rather traded places
like the creature in my brain
that he placed there for his reign
is somehow worse than the grave

i found comfort in my suffering
like it somehow defined me
or refined me
like there was happiness in death
or there were freedom in its grip
and not the endless night

i tell myself i do not miss you.
i have to tell myself something,
otherwise you're telling it to me from the corners of my mind.
and maybe its a lie
not maybe, i know it is

one day i'd like to know whose words are coming from my mouth
the endless question
are they my words
or yours
still haunts me every single night

and in a way
i'm afraid
that if your words don't come out
i'll have lost my last connection to you

and then who am i?