why would she be here?
why would she leave parts of herself
in a place that's been promised to ghosts?
for reasons unknown,
for motives unclear,
for every line that made her feel
a little less wanted each time it healed.
she stands and waits,
watching the remnants of light fade away,
letting herself submit to whatever comes next.
the whispers grow near,
her vision is blurry,
her posture is rigid,
her heart is so solemnly still.
she hopes to find peace
in leftover pieces that no one else needs,
but she can still use them to fix up the holes
before all of her disappears.
why would she be here?

every word i ever wrote is for you,
every breath i ever took is for you.
you're the version of me that lives on in my head,
kept alive by the lives that i haven't lived.
you're the reason why i'm still here.
i'm afraid,
i'm afraid of the stillness that captures the thoughts
and refuses to give them back.
there you are.
all these years between us, but there you are.
there i am, all alone, cold and terrified
of the day that will come, but i'm still here,
locked up in a room inside my mind.
you're alive, so alive despite everything,
and i owe you a second chance at life.
you're the reason why both of us aren't dead.
every breath i ever took is for you,
every word i ever wrote is for you.

there's something wrong with my head.
minutes turn into days, days turn into nothingness,
fall through me like i'm made of holes,
scars form where grass used to grow.

i'm in the middle of an uninhabited desert,
i'm in a crowd, so dense there's barely room for a breath.
my thoughts follow their own footsteps,
caught in a game of hide-and-seek with myself.

i should've paid more attention to chemistry,
because i think my brain is missing some vital element,
one that would finally show me how to be whole.
but there is something wrong with my head.

the abundance of possibilities
is making my stomach upset.
i feel like i forgot something,
i feel like i'm always catching up.
the ceiling is getting closer,
i think i'm about to throw up.
everyone's asking who i am
while i dream of a factory reset.

the sun's bleeding into the horizon,
the sun's taking its time to settle and set.
the infinite number of possibilities
is making my stomach upset.

a little bit of violence goes a long way.
say no to your reflection,
watch it fall apart into scattered fragments.
all of them are still you, remember?
now they can be used as a concealed weapon.
if you choose to do so, aim at the heart,
for you're not a butcher, you're a sculptor,
and this shard isn't a knife, but a scalpel.
watch the lines disappear as you cut.
it's unlike you to worry about blood
as long as it doesn't stain your dress,
as long as you lose some parts
in the process,
getting rid of all the unwanted layers.
all of them used to be you, remember?
kept asleep by injections,
kept awake by the pain.
flaws don't have a say on the matter.
a little bit of violence goes a long way.

call me hopeless, but i'd rather sit here in silence,
letting the whirlpool of all the makeshift fears
bleed itself dry into non-existence
before i step out and show my face,
wondering if water damage might ruin the appeal,
diminishing the market value of this small business
selling dull knives and doors with no handles.
waiting for another chemical miracle to come through;
every failure should come with a free sample.
call me hopeless, but i'd rather sit this one out,
slipping away as lights approach from the distance,
holding my spot in line for another imminent breakthrough.

i don't want to adhere to a faith that's unkind,
all this pain i've been holding, i know it's not mine,
but i can't give it back, it made me who i am,
one who lives as a saint will still die as a man.

there's a door that can take me wherever i want,
but i need to obey, to abstain and withhold
my own truth, as it is, for it stains the divine,
but i'll never adhere to a faith that's unkind.