Whether Permitting (Or Being Permitted)

I'm writing to your doubt two hundred miles away
I've been wondering lately when the right words would come
Because my skin's been bubbling over for the past couple months
But the flame would go out and I'd be left in the dark again

The scene is painted perfectly, seared into my brain
And the coping mechanisms aren't at all what I thought
Can you really stay composed when a man calls on his own bluff?
Can you really operate under the assumption he won't?

I thought about what's in your life and understood where you shut off
The well went dry, and I went home
You pined for something you'd lost since forgotten
Breathe air from your lungs, ball your hands into fists again
To stand and face this in your own
The only one who cared at all
Your whole body was worn too thin
They never wanted to know in the first place
The fox gnawed himself from his own goddamn trap

And I saw it coming as soon as your light shut off
To keep us in the dark until you could crawl out

And I saw it coming as soon as your light shut off
To keep us in the dark until you could crawl out

Stigma says that I'm a failure.I've been holding out for this
And you've assembled brick walls around yourself
To prevent reliving when your knees collapsed over again
Every time you're asked to explain yourself
"Shame" can never rectify my guilty hands for time I've lost
From penning punctuation that you'll likely never see
It's just, the words aren't good enough for a bullet hole behind the ear
There's blood in the snow - a gun in the snow. I'm sorry

Don't forget what you came for

Don't forget. Don't forget
Don't forget what you came for
Commemoration or exploitation? This letter was written with good intentions
I swear
I swear, but can any of it absolve us from a life that's bound by losing one?