Ten years in a casket, yet your grip is still tight

You’ve found a new way to ruin my night

I wake from a dream with a sting on my face

Like you hunted me down to this safe, quiet space

I’m thirty years old, I should be miles away

But I’m still that kid, trembling in the grey

A ghost with a habit of swinging your hands

Breaking my peace like you broke your commands

I’m a grown woman in a room of my own

Trying to harvest the seeds that I’ve sown

But my pulse is a drum, and my skin is a map

Replaying the trauma, caught in your trap

Thirty years older, but I’m still on my knees

Begging for mercy, begging you “please”

Thirty years older, but I’m still on my knees

Begging for mercy, begging you “please”

I’m not mourning you, I’m mourning the girl

Before you unraveled her innocent world

Why are your hands still wrapped ’round my throat?

Why am I sinking in this broken boat?

You’re a shadow that bites, a memory that hits

I’m still picking up all the glass and the bits

Ten years dead, but you’re louder than ever

I thought I’d be free, but you’re clever… so clever

I’m a collection of symptoms you left in the hall

A panic attack leaning against the wall

My hands have a tremor they learned from your voice

A body in prison that never had choice

I don’t have a soul, I just have a chart

Of all of the ways that you tore me apart

I’m an expert at shrinking, at taking less room

A flower that learned how to fade before bloom

I apologize daily for standing right here

A thirty-year-old trapped in five-year-old fear

I’m checking the locks, I’m hiding the keys

Still trying to cure your inherited disease

No “I love you” came without “but” or a “why”

You never held me whenever I’d cry

You’re just dust, you’re just bone

So why do I feel like I’m never alone?

You’re just air, you’re just cold

Why is your story the only one told?

No “I’m sorry,” no “I was wrong”

Just the sting of the dream, all night long

You’re not here, but you’re under my skin

Where does the ghost end and where do I begin?

I’m breaking the mirrors, I’m burning the bed

But I can’t kill a woman who’s already dead

No, I can’t kill a mother who’s already dead

Thirty years older, but I’m still on my knees

Begging for mercy

Ten years later, the slap feels real

Still that kid, with no way to heal

Watching the door, waiting for more

Still thirty and scared, still sorry I’m here

Am I becoming the ghost I fear?

Is that your voice in the mirror I hear?

Still sorry I’m here