(Intro) Mmm… shadows on my skin… memories breathing in the dark… “Okay… I don’t know where to start… It’s all still there. Every piece of it.” [Verse 1] You know… sometimes I still hear you. Not your voice — just the way you made me feel. Small. Wrong. Like I had to earn the right to breathe. I used to think surviving you made me strong. But it didn’t. It just made me tired. Hollow. What hurts the most? Not the ending. Not the pain. It’s how they taught me to live in fear like it was normal… like it was love. [Pre-Chorus] You left fingerprints on my fear. Taught me to scan rooms like a soldier, walk on eggshells like it was a language, apologize for things I didn’t break. You trained me to disappear in my own skin. I checked the door three, four, five times just to make sure I wasn’t in trouble. I learned the weight of footsteps, the shift in tone, the danger in silence. I read storms in someone’s eyes before they even knew they were angry. [Chorus] I’m haunted by the boys I survived, every ghost still scratching inside. Shadows stitched into my spine, their storms tangled up in mine. I shouldn’t be this good at surviving you — but I am. (“I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t… but I am…”) [Verse 2] And the worst part? Pieces of me still flinch at ghosts that look like you. But I’m not yours anymore. Not your puppet, not your silence, not your damage. I lived through you. All of you. I shouldn’t know these things. Shouldn’t be this good at predicting chaos, at shrinking myself, at bracing for impact, at surviving. But you — you trained me for it. [Pre-Chorus 2] You sharpened me with blame, softened me with fear, made me mistake attention for affection, control for care, pain… for passion. Some days I still feel you. Not in my heart — in my habits. The flinch at sudden sounds. The doubt at compliments. The way I scan rooms for exits before I sit down. You don’t leave quietly. None of you did. [Chorus] I’m haunted by the boys I survived, every ghost still scratching inside. All their shadows stitched into my spine, their storms tangled up in mine. I shouldn’t be this good at being traumatic, shouldn’t wear scars like a practiced habit. But every hurt you gave, I learned — (“I shouldn’t… be this good… but I am…”) [Bridge] You cling like smoke… like ghosts… like fingerprints on my ribs that never wash away. Surviving you didn’t make me stronger. It made me older. Tired. Colder. It made me good at things no one should have to be good at. I shouldn’t know fear like a language. I shouldn’t be fluent in pain. But I am. I lived through you. Every lie, every raised voice, every disappearing act. I learned your shadows. I memorized your storms. So now? You don’t scare me. Not anymore. [Outro] “And that’s the part you never expected — that I’d still be here. That I’d still rise. That your ghost is the one that fades first. I shouldn’t be this good at surviving you…” (breath) “…but I am.”

Your Confession