Quietly Leaving

[Verse I] I open my eyes, regret that I woke up, wish I could stay where the weight doesn’t show up. I love how the quiet sits deep in this room, how darkness leans in like it knows what I’m losing. Sheets hold the shape of a version of me that doesn’t explain, doesn’t beg, doesn’t bleed. The silence just listens, it doesn’t respond, no pressure to move, no demand to be strong. My breath feels borrowed, my name feels delayed, like I showed up late to a life already played. If stillness had arms, I’d stay where I’m at — not asleep, not alive, just easy to lack. [Verse II] I stand up eventually, dress like I’m fine, choose words that are safe, expressions in line. I’m polite on instinct, efficient, exact, a well-trained reply to whatever they ask. They complain about noise, about weather, about time, about people who failed them, about crossing a line. I don’t get the volume, the need to be sharp — if we’re all worn thin, why tear it apart? I smile at the moments I’m not really in, let conversations happen around my skin. The day moves forward, I move with the flow, like a hand on a clock that doesn’t say no. [Refrain] This doesn’t feel heavy. It doesn’t feel deep. It feels like something quietly leaving me. Not torn. Not loud. Just thinning somehow. Like a room after voices forget how to sound. [Verse III] Pain used to knock, now it skips the door, sits where it wants, spreads out on the floor. It doesn’t announce itself, doesn’t insist, just takes what it finds and pretends it exists. Memories blur at the edges first, joy shows up late and leaves even worse. Fear feels distant, misaddressed, like a warning written for someone else. I lie on my back, let the silence wait, count small seconds losing their weight. Morning arrives like it always does — on time, unchanged, unconcerned with us. [Bridge] They say “get moving” like motion is choice, like gravity listens to will or to voice. They say “it passes” with borrowed belief, as if this state asked for their relief. I don’t argue. I don’t defend. I let their certainty reach its end. [Verse IV] I don’t want to die — I need that clear. I just don’t want to keep waking up here. In this muted middle, this steady grey, where nothing is wrong but nothing stays. Sleep looks honest, it doesn’t demand, doesn’t ask who I am or where I should stand. If I lie still enough, long enough, maybe the day moves on without needing me. Not dramatic. Not brave. Just tired of trying to feel what I save. [Final Refrain] This isn’t despair. It’s distance that grows. A careful retreat no one else notices goes. No crash. No sign. Just less every time. Like a light left on that forgets why it shines. [Outro] The bed holds my weight without asking for proof. The world starts elsewhere, already in use. I stay where I am, not fighting, not gone — trying not to fade any faster than I already am.