I can imagine how he thinks of me:
The weak girl’s desperation.
But to this day, I can’t believe
It was all his manipulation.

I believed that I was stronger;
Thought that I could play the part.
Pretend I was normal a little longer,
And maybe then I’d really start.

But in all eyes, I the fool
Was caught up in the act —
Though whether it was mine or his
I will never know for fact.


I can’t battle the presumption
Carried in my words
That I’m not a channel for destruction
That I’m not better left unheard

I can’t drown out little whispers
Wearing my own voice
When I always chose my battle’s victors
And it was never the right choice.

The Art of Being More Social

I’m supposed to make an effort
Be friendly, it’s just fine
How dandy for the experts
I couldn’t trust a cup of wine

I’m supposed to make an effort
Accept mistakes, cast out a line
Trust that life won’t leave you desert
In the end it will just leave you brine

I’m not supposed to make an effort
People use each other all the time
And that doesn’t give much comfort
But what if comfort’s only lying?


I have to focus
On the one thing I can do
There is no room in there for me
There is no room in there for you
No room for what I haven’t done
No room for what I should
No room for all I wouldn’t do
And now I never could
There is nothing but that one thing
Perhaps that isn’t true
But if I have to focus
It has to be on something I can do

The Only Immortal Thing

There is no translation
For the things inside my head
And no will ever know what’s missing
When I wind up dead
And all my books are empty
Because I never knew the words
And all I try is sickening
Because it’s never more than thirds
Of what might be enough
When we’re all resigned to drowning
‘Cause the ocean’s just too rough
It’s a fact of life
The only immortal thing is doubt
And if I can’t ever win
All I can do is shout
But what use is voices in a chorus
Of silent, desperate screams
And if they’re all that I can hear now
How can I not know that I can’t change things?


I had no reason I could give you
For why I wait upon this shelf
But I think the reason it comes down to
Is that I hate myself

I’ve had years to listen
To the opinions of those dear
And what I’ve learned is mine don’t matter
And that mistakes are things to fear

Now they try to stoke my confidence
But I just don’t believe
I am everything they’ve hated
And nothing that they need