My eyelids droop with tired weight
And yet it isn’t even late
My hands itch too much, so I write
My words bleed on into the night.
But what’s one more girl up all alone?
Pen and paper, candlelight throne—
How does this girl affect our world,
How can she make her own voice heard?
She can’t, you see, I can’t—that’s right
I am the girl sitting up all night
Writing, writing, scars of life—
Of will, of way, of secret strife—
And secrets, yes, oh they abound
My thoughts, my actions, they surround
But now they’re spilled, on floors they sit
Waiting—for something—a kick? A hit?
But no, oh no, untouched they stay
And as the night turns into day
They crawl back up my weary sleeve
And I think myself foolish to believe
That anyone near would clean them up—
For you all fear that they’d disrupt
Your precious lives, your precious ways
But what happens when day fades away?
I’ll tell you what—oh fright I’ll give—
Because in candlelight I’ll always live.