You cut our ropes,
left the umbilical,
and now I carry around
this weight of broken hope.
I can't retrace,
and I lost my hold
and blame myself because that is all
I've ever known.
Your face shows doubt
when your head feels the wake of the sorrow.
Swore to me that you could live without
then the beg turns to take turns to borrow.
Help me down.
I just want this out.
When you bend, when you break, when you follow
you cut me out.
Then you cut our ropes,
left the umbilical,
and now i'm lost and I can't take this path back home.
Send a birthday card.
Leave a one-way note.
I lied. I'm sorry. This isn't easy. I don't know.
And you'd ask me to “open your walls to this.”
But I'm scared, fingers broken,
and ill-prepared to let this drag out.
When you forgot the words to our song.
When you can't remember names its been too long.
When you stopped asking what was wrong
all the pressure built up it was too strong.
I can't make this better.
It fell out of my hands because
I just wasn't built to hold on.
and I can't remember names its been too long.
and I can't find your face in the crowd.
I made a promise said my eyes would stay shut
through something called the scope of all of this rebuilding.
I broke when I entered. Displaced from the center,
I can't find my way around this.
My wounds healed while my fingers fixed