We chase misprinted lies

We face the path of time

And yet I fight, and yet I fight

This battle all alone

No one to cry to

No place to call home

My gift of self is raped

My privacy is raked

And yet I find, and yet I find

Repeating in my head

If I can't be my own

Day by day….

It’s hard to explain the weight of starting over

When people think I’m doing something brave

They think I’m standing in a field of clover

Not digging myself out of some deep grave

There’s flour on my shoes and in my hair

Shaking the sleep out of a heavy head

My hands are moving, but I'm lost somewhere

I’m fading into the background of who I used to be

The oven door is hot against my skin

A sharp reminder that I’m still awake

I look down at the silver knife on the table

It’s heavy, cold, and glistening

I think about pressing the point right against my chest

Right where it aches the most

Fantasize about pushing it in

Deep down not to end it, maybe just to see if this is real

To see if there’s still a heart inside of me