Sometimes I speak like a stranger just to keep myself from staying I dress the truth in broken words and leave before it starts decaying Sometimes I cannot see sometimes the dark sees me I walk through rooms I never entered carrying places I will never be I know the shape of what I've done I know the color of the night I keep my heartbeat under glass inside the last remaining light Your face appears and disappears like smoke behind a closing door I see the silence in your hands and every smile you hid before Sometimes I name it pain sometimes I call it fault sometimes I lose myself inside the wound I never caught And if the light is gone I still remember where it stayed somewhere beneath the falling sound somewhere beneath the names we gave I know the things I need to be I know the lies I need to leave I know the fall, I know the weight I know the ache that learns to breathe Sometimes I save the fall sometimes I save the pain sometimes I hold the dark so close it almost learns to say my name Sometimes I feel the same sometimes I fade, then stand with all the light I couldn't keep still burning softly in my hands
