The cliff's a scary place And to be honest I'm stuck between wanting to stay safe And wanting to step off the edge Tasting gravity as it passes me by. If I die Then people will call it a misstep. They won't call me a failure. They never do. Sometimes, At night, I want to scream that word into my pillow. But I never do. Because deep down beneath the darkness of depression and the currents of anxiety lies a seabed of hope. Hope that the grass is greener on the other side. And not more brown leaves. Because I fucking hate brown leaves
Well that's a lie. But sometimes You have to fake it to you make it So I'll fake my hate for brown leaves And the withering of petals that signify colder days. I'll fake my love of heights and the sight of clouds beneath my feet. And I'll jump In faith In the belief of the unseen but imagined. In the knowledge of the me I'll leave behind And in the hope, That where I land will lead me to the me I know I can be.