I listen for the calls from outside that try tempting me into the sky to see what happens if I finally give in.
Cold old winter morning when I'm shaking far too much to attempt living, you're always surrounding me.
"Just try to stay hidden" the voices call out every few moments as I struggle to stay sane in here.
But you understand this, right?
Do I now only talk with the ghosts and the voices?
Why won't you answer anymore?
I repeat it again and again until the words take on new meanings, and the meanings I rearrange to something that may be achievable.
Long black hair was where I found it last time but that colour has gone.
Now I look into the empty spaces and hope that words and music continue to appear each new morning, but I'm so scared that it’s just my imagination.
If I give up the control will I just end up back in the flames somewhere down the line? As I'm not sure I could do that again.
I've grown weak since the cutting started and stopped.
And there is never a way back or a way out except towards the calling voices from beyond the edge.
Cold old winter morning when I'm shaking far too much to attempt living, you're always surrounding me.
"Just try to stay hidden" the voices call out every few moments as I struggle to stay sane in here.
But you understand this, right?
Do I now only talk with the ghosts and the voices?
Why won't you answer anymore?
I repeat it again and again until the words take on new meanings, and the meanings I rearrange to something that may be achievable.
Long black hair was where I found it last time but that colour has gone.
Now I look into the empty spaces and hope that words and music continue to appear each new morning, but I'm so scared that it’s just my imagination.
If I give up the control will I just end up back in the flames somewhere down the line? As I'm not sure I could do that again.
I've grown weak since the cutting started and stopped.
And there is never a way back or a way out except towards the calling voices from beyond the edge.