1992

I don’t want to feel my face

I don’t want to feel my faith

My guardian angels took a day off the summer of ‘92

I’ve been paying for it ever since

I’ve been running from it ever since

I know it’s unfair to stay angry

I know it’s unfair to stay lonely

I don’t know that I have a choice

I don’t know that I have a voice

Because darkness plays no favorites

And who am I to question?

Who am I to complain?

Who was I supposed to be?

And who have I become?