i'll write a prayer
to the silence,
a final act
of my defiance.
when there is nothing
left to preach,
i'll leave the altar,
burn the speech.
i'll bleed my faith,
and on the steps
i'll face the crowd
to make amends;
stand on my knees,
accept it all,
and say a prayer
before the fall.

i have a yearning
in my bones,
a restless,
all-consuming
hunger
to be my own,
instead of yours,
to break the grip
that keeps me under.
and if the line
is drawn too close,
the lack of air
does make
me wonder.
it burns like fire
in my bones,
this restless,
all-consuming
hunger.

you said that i'm wasting my time
on things that don't matter.
well, i'd rather be wasteful
than lonely.
the road to self-preservation
takes a lifetime and a half,
but on my third attempt
i think i'm finally getting
the hang of it.
and instead of shrinking in size
after every unpleasant comment
that makes no difference at all,
i expand into every direction
until there's no room to grow,
then a little bit more
afterwards.
and wouldn't you like to know
what i'm about to become,
wouldn't you want
to see me now?
well, i'm sorry for wasting your time,
but i'd rather be wasteful
than spend it
on trying to please
you.

i am at peace,
it's all i need,
me and the ocean
at my feet.
and when there's endless,
there is free,
and true,
and hopeful,
and complete.
with no horizons
to outline,
eternal beauty
to explore.
beside the ocean
i will lie
and be at peace,
there's nothing more.

i think i might be dying,
one rejection at a time.
one compromise,
one vacant gaze,
one "yes, of course i'm fine."
i think i might be dying
and i really don't know why,
but every time i talk
it feels like bleeding out
my thoughts.
i think i might be dying,
one confession at a time,
or being a placeholder
for the love
of someone's life.
i think there's something
very wrong
with workings of my mind.
i think i might be dying.
i think i'm tired of trying,
one breakdown at a time.

she faded in people
that she had known,
vanished within them
without a trace.
and being asked
of who she's become,
she smiles and says
she no longer exists.
it's all of them
that carry her heart,
dispersed and shared,
but never replaced.
she faded in people
that she had loved,
vanished within them
without a trace.

it's a beautiful sentiment,
loving someone
who doesn't love you back,
indulging this perfect lie.
a kaleidoscope of doubt
swirling in my head,
day after day
and night after night.
whenever you're away
i can't help but imagine
somebody else by your side.
it's an intricate ritual,
saying what you want
to hear,
laughing at your jokes,
fading into background
when you're near
and dying when you're gone.
i wish i knew how to quit,
gather my things
and walk out of the door.
sometimes i wonder
why i keep doing this
to myself,
but there isn't one answer
when love
is endlessly bound
with pain,
and hurting myself
is the only way
to ensure
your return.
it's a beautiful sentiment,
loving someone
who doesn't love you back,
faithfully waiting by the door,
day after day
and night after night,
indulging this perfect lie.