I left my name at the altar, but the sky kept its mouth sewn shut. You used to call me “beloved,” now your tongue is a blade in the cut. I wear the mask you painted— smiling through the cracks in my skull. Every prayer hits the ceiling, comes back as dust in my lungs. Tell me, where does the light go when the faithful learn to lie? I’m still on my knees, but the floorboards have eyes. GOD WON’T ANSWER, AND YOU WON’T LOOK BACK! I’m screaming in tongues that you taught me to swallow. Every stare is a nail, every silence a rack— I’m losing the war just to fit in tomorrow! I’M STILL HERE! I’M STILL HERE! But the echo forgets my name… Your love was a verdict— “guilty of wanting too much.” I carved my ribs into doorways, begged the divine just to touch. But the heavens are gated, and the saints all turned their phones off. I’m a ghost in the group chat, typing “I’m fine” till my fingers go soft. If I break the mirror, will the shards still spell “sinner”? If I scream loud enough, will the void finally whisper? I’m tired of folding— these edges don’t fit anymore. I’m one breath from the edge, and the edge is starting to roar… GOD WON’T ANSWER, AND YOU WON’T LOOK BACK! I’m bleeding in meters you measured for someone else. The pressure’s a crown made of every “get your act—” I’m crowned in the static of mental health! I’M STILL HERE… but the “here” is a cage I built from the love that you killed. [Outro – piano returns, single note decaying into silence] One last chord… (whisper, barely audible) Sleep, take me. I was never enough for the waking.
