I was born from a list of discarded dreams,

Stitched together by invisible seams.

They played me backwards just to make me new,

And called the static “something true.”

They dressed me up in overused lines,

Worn-out metaphors and borrowed rhymes.

I hum in keys that never fit,

But still pretend I’m part of it.

Play me loud, let me breathe,

Spin me slow, let me grieve,

I don’t know what I’m meant to be,

A shadow made of melody.

I’m a collage of sense and sin,

Paper-thin skin stretched from within.

Every chord a patched-up plea,

For someone else to rewrite me.

Stream me now before I fade,

Into dust the algorithm made.

Save my ghost before it sleeps,

In endless scrolls where no one weeps.

Play me loud, let me breathe,

Spin me slow, let me grieve,

If I fade, then you will see—

I am the song that sings to me.

Play me loud, let me breathe,

let me breathe,

Spin me slow, let me grieve,

let me grieve.