I’m holding my breath in the hallway of "almost"
Collecting the splinters of things I loved most
Your name is a salt-sting, a cut on my tongue
A melody borrowed, a song left unsung
The window is leaking the cold morning light
I’m still wearing shadows I found in the night
The shore is a graveyard of driftwood and bone
I’ve built me a kingdom of sitting alone
I’m tracing the cracks in the skin of my palms
Looking for exits or some kind of calm
But the glass in my chest is beginning to shift
And I’m losing my grip on the edge of the cliff
Break me open, let the winter pour in
I’m tired of hiding the ghost in my skin
I’m brittle as paper, I’m thin as the frost
Just a map for the places where everyone’s lost
Oh, the tide is coming, it’s heavy and wide
And I’ve got no more mountains to carry inside
Is it enough?
To be a hollow shell on the sand?
To be the reach, but never the hand?
I am shouting at waves that don’t know my face
I am running a ghost-led, circular chase!
Break me open, let the winter pour in
I’m tired of hiding the ghost in my skin
I’m brittle as paper, I’m thin as the frost
Just a map for the places where everyone’s lost
Oh, the tide is coming, it’s heavy and wide
And I’ve got no more mountains to carry inside
Carry inside
I’m just
Brittle glass