cinnamon decorates my nightstand
i’m wearing my pretty dress, shoes to the side of the door
most of these recent days i’ve been questioning who i’ve been prettying myself up for

if the sun dies, will i pass with her?
or will i fade into the moonlight
in times like these i question if i’ll make it out alive
if i might somehow survive
but im comforted by the fact that no matter how hard any of us try
non of us will

i wish i was born a star
i wish i could provide
some substance, oh a light
please don’t ask me earnestly if i’m doing better, if i’m alright
i don’t have the strength to lie
not tonight

i bought some silk
i placed it delicacy around my torso
i read the books that i wish i wrote
i’ll dance to the music i wish i made
i’ll think to myself as i sway
about the pens that lay silently in my draw
full of papers too, of papers which i’ve been too lazy to decorate
filling up empty space
patiently they wait
in hopes of being some art some day
if im not enough, then who is?
i think my soulmate may have died before we could meet
so who can save me?
if it’s not me?
my mother soaked me in tougher love than i had wanted
but here i am, somewhat
i don’t blame her for it
no, not at all
not anymore
i’m older now, i know she isn’t to blame
not in my eyes at least
i don’t know her story, and she doesn’t know mine
and neither of us will have much courage to ask
and most of me is okay with that

flowers have replaced the cinnamon which once slept by my head on my nightstand
i don’t like their smell but at least i can no longer smell the scent of you
it may not be a noble sacrifice, but honestly it’ll do

i hope you know how much i starve
to feel full of your love
oh, to feel somewhat enough
please don’t ask me earnestly if im recovering, if i’m alright
i don’t have the strength to look you in the eyes
no, not tonight

have built myself up and torn myself down again and again
in hopes of finding stability
the right way to build myself properly
i’m not fragile to honesty,
i’m weak to insincerity
darling, if i was paint would you make some art of out of me?
i have believed the wrong people
yes i have been the fool
now that i have learned i think in a way that makes me harsh
as if everyone as gone through what i have been through
as if people know what to do
my brain has a lot of growing up to do

it’s autumn now, in this avenue
the leaves are starting to turn a nice shade
the warmth of the colours, oh how they are reminiscent of you
is it safe to let you go?
i think there's hope in these cold winds
i think a freedoms which i haven’t tasted is brewing

cinnamon decorates my nightstand
she’s back, placed by my very hands
i’m wearing my pretty dress, shoes to the wall
these recent weeks i’ve understood that who i was before doesn’t need to change to shed the weight of you
that is all