The Quiet
After

I tried anger like a lighter Held it up against the night Watched it make a little weather Out of everything inside I tried whiskey, I tried strangers I tried laughing way too loud I tried turning every silence Into somewhere I could drown I called it coping when it caught me Called it freedom when I ran I kept losing little pieces Then pretending it went as planned But the morning has a mirror And it never lets me lie I've been every kind of ruined Trying not to feel alive And I tried to fill all the spaces Where only space should be I kicked the walls and I killed the lights And called the wreckage me I drank the dark, I chased the noise Till there's nothing left to bleed And this time in the quiet after No one looking after me I tried bargaining with shadows Made a deal with every ghost Promised I would be somebody If the hurt would let me go I tried blaming every season Tried to curse the falling leaves Like winter was the reason That I kept leaving me And I wore grief like a bad religion Kept repeating what I lost I made altars out of exits Then complained about the cost But the quiet isn't empty The room I never knew Maybe I was never missing I was just afraid of the truth And I tried to fill all the spaces Where only space should be I kicked the walls and I killed the lights And called the wreckage me I drank the dark, I chased the noise Till there's nothing left to bleed And this time in the quiet after No one looking after me No more making friends with damage Just because it knows my name No more calling every fire Something holy in the flame I can sit here with the silence I can let the feeling breathe I don't have to fill the hollow Just to prove I didn't leave I tried it all to fill the space Where only space should be I kicked the walls, I killed the lights And I called the wreckage me I drank the dark, I chased the noise Till there's nothing left to bleed And this time in the quiet after I'm looking after me I tried it all and all it taught me Was how tired I could be And this time in the quiet after Well, I'm looking after me I tried anger like a lighter But I let the match go clean And this time in the quiet after I'm looking after me.

There's a clock above the doorway making circles out of pain I have watched it drag the evening through another empty frame This cup beside the sofa that I should have put away But I keep leaving small reminders like they'll make you wanna stay I thought the time would come in softer like a hand upon my back But it only moves the silence through the places that you lack And the deafening sound of the second hand keeps cutting the darkened lines Time doesn't heal me, it just proves I'm alive Every tick says that you're gone again, every tock says I survived I keep begging for the world to stop, but it keeps keeping time I can hear the heater waking like a tired animal I can hear the floorboards settle in the room that we used to fill The quiet has a rhythm that it never had before Like the house has learned how to count you walking out the door Maybe grief is just a metronome for the songs we never write Maybe I am still becoming in the pause between goodnight And the deafening sound of the second hand keeps cutting the darkened lines Time doesn't heal me, it just proves I'm alive Every tick says that you're gone again, every tock says I survived I keep begging for the world to stop, but it keeps keeping time And I don't want another morning if it only means more proof That the future had the nerve to keep showing up without you But somewhere in the counting there's a pulse I didn't choose One more second I survived and one more second I got through And the deafening sound of the second hand keeps cutting the darkened lines Time doesn't heal me, it just proves I'm alive Every tick says you're gone again, every tock says I survived I keep begging for the world to stop, but it keeps keeping time And I keep living by the second till the second lets me heal There's a clock above the doorway still pretending this is fair And the deafening sound of the second hand says that I'm still here.

You say I sound better lately like the storm has finally passed Like I learned to fold the wreckage into something that could last You like me when I'm softer, when I don't ask you to see All the ways I keep from breaking just to make this look easy Calm is not surrender and still is not the same as free I stopped bleeding on the carpet, that doesn't mean I'm clean And don't mistake the silence for the ending of the pain And don't mistake my quiet for a heart that's been replaced And I'm not fine, I'm careful, I'm not healed, I'm contained And don't mistake my silence for me being okay I don't explain the bruises that don't show up on my skin I just wake up every morning and negotiate again With the old familiar panic, with the names I almost call With a part of me still reaching for a match inside the wall You see hands that aren't shaking, you see eyes that don't look wild But I have made a life of holding back the flood behind a smile And don't mistake the silence for the ending of the pain And don't mistake my quiet for a heart that's been replaced And I'm not fine, I'm careful, I'm not healed, I'm contained And don't mistake my silence for me being okay I don't owe you all the weather just because I held the rain And I don't have to prove I'm damaged by becoming it again Maybe peace will come here someday, maybe I'll know its face But right now I'm just protecting what the noise has almost erased And don't mistake the silence for the ending of the pain You say I sound better lately, like I finally found my way But don't mistake the silence for me being okay.

I know the street, I know the corner, I know the neon in the rain I know the door that sticks half open like it still remembers my name I know the barstool by the jukebox, I know the bottle, I know the floor I know exactly where it is, I don't go there anymore I don't go there anymore, not because I don't remember I could find it in the dark, I could walk there half-dead sober But I got tired of waking up with my soul down on the floor Yeah, I know exactly where it is and I don't go there anymore I know the names I used to answer when I needed someone else I know the lies that sounded holy when I couldn't stand myself I know the song that starts the spiral, I know the face I wore before I know exactly who I was and I don't go there anymore I don't go there anymore, not because I don't remember I could find it in the dark, I could walk there half-dead sober But I got tired of waking up with my soul down on the floor Yeah, I know exactly where it is and I don't go there anymore There ain't no saint inside me, no clean and easy cure Just a tired man choosing not to lose himself anymore And if the old life wants me, it can knock until it's sore I still hear it calling, but I don't go there anymore I don't go there anymore, not because I don't remember I could find it in the dark, I could walk there half-dead sober But I got tired of waking up with my soul down on the floor Yeah, I know exactly where it is and I don't go there anymore I know exactly where it is and I don't go there anymore I know the street, I know the corner, I know the neon in the rain I don't call it being stronger, I just don't go back that way.

I didn't call the old disaster just to hear it say my name Didn't chase the kind of laughter that leaves ashes in the frame I sat down inside the quiet, let it breathe against my skin And for once I didn't fight it like a war I had to win And there was no glass on the sidewalk, no apologies to make No waking up and wondering what part of me I gave away No, nothing broke tonight I didn't have to disappear I let the silence stay And somehow I stayed here No bottle in my bloodstream And no fire I had to feed Nothing broke tonight No, not even me I didn't dress up like a warning just to haunt another room Didn't turn the music louder till it sounded like another wound And I didn't make a joke of hurting just to prove I'm still alive I let my hands be empty and I made it through the night There was no smoke in the curtains, no wreckage in the hall And no one had to carry what I couldn't hold at all No, nothing broke tonight I didn't have to disappear I let the silence stay And somehow I stayed here No bottle in my bloodstream And no fire I had to feed Nothing broke tonight No, not even me And maybe quiet isn't empty and maybe empty isn't gone And maybe I've been calling peace the part that comes before the storm But tonight it didn't take me to the places I outgrew I just sat there with my breathing and the breathing got me through No, nothing broke tonight I didn't have to disappear I let the silence stay And somehow I stayed here No bottle in my bloodstream, no fire that I had to feed No, nothing broke tonight, no, not even me Nothing broke tonight, no one had to pull me through And I'm learning that there is mercy in the things I didn't do I sat down in the quiet, let it breathe against my skin And the room did not destroy me when I let myself stay in.

The house forgot the sound of laughing, now the walls just hold their breath The coffee cools beside the window, like it's waiting for what's left And there's a shadow in the doorway, like you're almost coming through And I hate how much the silence sounds so unlike you And I thought the quiet would be gentle, like a blanket on my chest But it only makes more room for the things that I miss best And the quiet isn't peace yet, it's just the space where the laughter lived It's the shape of things that I'm missing, it's the room with nothing left to give And no one calls out from the kitchen, no one ruins the end of a joke So I don't call it healing when the quiet feels this broke No, I don't call it healing, 'cause quiet isn't peace yet I still leave the hallway light on, like a habit I can't name It makes a little golden warning that the house is not the same The TV talks to no one, just to keep the room alive I laugh once out of reflex, then I remember you're not mine And maybe grief is not an ending, maybe it's a room you keep Full of all the ordinary things that cut you underneath And quiet isn't peace yet, it's just the space where the laughter lived It's the shape of things that I'm missing, it's the room with nothing left to give And no one calls out from the kitchen, no one ruins the end of a joke So I don't call it healing when the quiet feels this broke No, I don't call it healing, 'cause quiet isn't peace yet And maybe one day I'll stop listening for your keys inside the door And maybe silence will mean resting and not wanting anymore And maybe I'll make peace with mourning when it doesn't say your name And maybe rooms can learn new music without pretending they're the same And quiet isn't peace yet, but maybe it's the room before And maybe I'm not broken just because I wanted more And no one calls from the kitchen, no one ruins the end of a joke And I'm not ready to call it healing, but I stayed inside the smoke And quiet isn't peace yet, it's just the space where the laughter lived And I'm learning how to breathe here with the silence that it gives And the house forgot the sound of laughing, I'm still learning what comes next And some survival doesn't sing yet, and quiet isn't peace yet.

The morning didn't ask me how I made it, it just came right through the blinds Like light could touch a broken table and not apologize There's coffee going cold beside the sink now, a shirt still on the chair I keep finding little pieces of me like I must have left them there And nobody called it courage when I got out of bed No choir in the hallway, no hand upon my head Just the floor beneath my feet and the ceiling still around I didn't rise up from the ashes, I just didn't burn all the way down Some survival doesn't make a sound, stays around when the lights go out It folds the clothes and it feeds the dog, it lets the silence sit too long And some survival isn't brave and loud, no victory song, no holy crowd Just a heartbeat on the heavy ground, some survival doesn't make a sound I used to think that healing had a doorway, something clean that you walked into But I've been living in the hallway with no map and no excuse There are names I don't say out loud, but they still rearrange the air And I don't want the past to hold me, I just know it's standing there And I'm getting tired of explaining how a wound can disappear But still lay under the weather when the room goes sharp and clear So I don't want to dress it up in meaning, I don't want to make it sound profound I just want to keep both hands open when the dark comes back around And some survival doesn't make a sound, it just stays when the lights go out It makes the bed and it locks the door, it breathes through what it can't ignore Some survival isn't brave and bold, no victory song, no holy crowd Just a heartbeat on the heavy ground, some survival doesn't make a sound And no one saw the war, but I came out breathing No one kept the score of my almost leaving I stayed alive in lowercase, no headline, no parade Just dishes in the afternoon and one more night I stayed Nothing was fixed, but nothing finished me I made a pulse out of almost gone Some survival doesn't make a sound, it just stays when the lights go out It hums beneath the ruined walls, it answers when no one calls Some survival isn't brave and loud, it's knees on the carpet and head bowed down It's one more breath beneath the ground, some survival doesn't make a sound And I don't need to be proud to know I'm still around The room went still, but I kept breathing Some survival doesn't make a sound The morning didn't fix me when it found me, but it found me in here somehow I made a home in the quiet after, still learning to live there now.

I wrote the message in my head a hundred different ways Made a courtroom out of memory and put your silence on the stand I had the proof, I had the timeline, I had the bruise behind the smile But every time I tried to send it, I could feel it cost a mile I don't need another ending that leaves me on the floor I don't need to knock forever at a long-abandoned door And maybe closure isn't given, maybe peace is what I keep When I stop explaining damage to people who watched me bleed And I don't need the last word if it costs me one more night I don't need to be understood by someone who rewrote the fight Let them call it silence and let them call it pride But I'm done fucking bleeding for the people passing by I let them keep the version where I'm colder than I was Let them make me a little villain out of someone who needed love I could correct the whole room, I could drag the truth to light But I've burned enough of myself trying to be seen as right There's a freedom in not reaching for a hand that let me fall There's a mercy in not answering every echo down the hall And maybe quiet is a boundary, maybe leaving is a prayer Maybe I can stop pretending I belong in places that left me there And I don't need the last word if it costs me one more night I don't need to be understood by someone who rewrote the fight Let them call it silence and let them call it pride But I'm done fucking bleeding for the people passing by And I forgive the part of me that wanted one more chance To say it clean, to make it land, to try to make you understand But some hearts are locked rooms and some doors are only walls And I've spent too many years explaining to the fall And I don't need the last word if it costs me one more night I don't need to be understood by someone who rewrote the fight Let them call it silence, let them call it pride 'Cause I'm done fucking bleeding for the people passing by And I don't need the last word, I don't need to prove the pain This quiet is mine now, and I'm not giving it away I wrote the message in my head, then I let it disappear No last word, no open wound, just me still standing here.

I answered one text after midnight like a flare from a buried phone Said, “I'm still here,” then erased it and sent, “I made it home” There's a glass by the bed with a fingerprint, a plant I forgot to water The kitten keeps letting the morning in, and somehow I let it still No choir came down from the ceiling, no clean white light through the door Just my shoes where I left them waiting, like I knew I might need them once more I left the light on like a proof of life, put my name back on in the morning I'm not alright, but I'm here tonight, and maybe that is something I made a sound in an empty room just to hear the walls reply Nothing is healed, but nothing is gone, and I'm still proof of life I washed one plate like a promise, left the rest for another day Some miracles look like silverware getting put away I opened the mail from a week ago, let the dust have less of the room There are ghosts in the corner watching like they don't know what to do I used to think that hope had thunder, some holy impossible sound But lately it knocks very softly and waits till I'm ready to turn around I left the light on like a proof of life, put my name back on in the morning I'm not alright, but I'm here tonight, and maybe that is something I made a sound in an empty room just to hear the walls reply Nothing is healed, but nothing is gone, and I'm still proof of life If staying counts, then count me in, quiet hands and shaking skin If breathing counts, then I'm doing fine, one small second at a time No victory speech, no rising sun, no perfect ending and no battles won Just me in the room and the low porch light, learning how to call this life I left the light on like a proof of life, put my name back on in the morning Nothing is healed, but nothing is gone, and I'm still proof of life I fed the dog, I opened the blinds, let the day come in sideways I'm not saved, but I'm not lost, I'm somewhere in the quiet Nothing was fixed, but I stayed till dawn, I'm still proof of life The light by the window is tired too, but it keeps touching the floor I don't know what to call that yet, but right now I'm calling that more I left the light on, I left the light on, I left the light on 'Cause I'm still proof of life.