I have lived so long within the ache,

Defining my soul by the hearts that break.

A hollow echo, a silhouette in style—

Who am I without this long exile?

I am a storm that is trapped in a small, quiet frame,

Loud in my head, yet unknown by my name.

I’m tired of bowing, of keeping my head low,

To a misery I’ve nursed, but can no longer show.

I am done letting others provide the reply,

To the questions I ask of a dark, empty sky.

For I am so shattered, so jagged and torn,

That the “fixed” version of me can never be born.

So let me stay here, where the peace cannot find me,

With the ruins of “Destiny” left far behind me.

I will lock every door, I will pull every shade,

In this room where the light is forbidden to fade.

May no one discover this anxious remains,

This ghost of a human, still bound by his chains.

I am not perfect. I never could be.

I give up the ghost. I give up on me.