Give me time, I’m healing. Without faith, I’m leaving. I claw at the walls of my own mind, at war with myself each night, I bleed honesty into every word, but you still see the stain, never the hurt. I’m not going to replace anything we ever made, so we don’t drown beneath the weight. Do you hear what I say? or is it all in your head? Give me time, I’m healing. Without faith, I’m leaving. Your gaze stabs my eyes, splits me open, ignores my voice, and hunts for the wound. The hole I’ve buried my whole life. The one I can never fill, only tend like a garden haunted by drought. I want to be more (i want to be more) than the ghost of my past, (more than a ghost) more than the shame you throw like knives. I want my tongue to taste of love, (taste of love) (taste of love) (taste of love) Give me time, I’m healing. Without faith, I’m leaving. But every time you bring it back, I rot a little, grow stale, feel useless, as though no healing could ever be enough. And still I KEEP FIGHTING. Because somewhere beneath the rubble, beneath your fire and my ashes, there’s a seed that whispers: LOVE CAN STILL GROW HERE.
