by Daughter
They call it the witch's wound The words that get stuck in my throat The burning tight breath As I cry out for my loss What part is pretend What is the truth The unsaid words, or the lies That you present as fact The past that carries me here Or the future that pulls me with seductive hope Or is the truth the present person Where I lose my grip on both The words I am barely able to mutter The words that are caught in my barely there breath If I do not speak the words Can it still be called truth Isn't it truer than the falseness you speak?