Uploaded January 2026 | Updated September 2026, 11 hours ago
LYRICS:
I stopped asking which wound gets the crown,
Stopped weighing the blade against the ground.
Two ghosts shouting from opposite sides
Demanding I choose how a man should die.
The sands still shift when I speak your name,
The ocean still tastes of borrowed shame,
But I see now the trick in the question asked,
It wasn’t a choice, it was a trap.
I am not the judge of my own erasure,
I am not a debt you get to measure.
There is a third door you never showed,
Not up, not down, not tied to the code.
I don’t pick you, I don’t pick her,
I pick the breath that stays unslaughtered.
No altar built from my remains,
No future bought with permanent pain.
Dichotomy breaks in my hands...
I choose to stand.
The devil taught time to eat itself,
Left clocks bleeding on the shelf.
She taught love could split like glass,
Cut you deep, then call it past.
But memory isn’t an enemy force,
It’s a map, with a damaged course.
I won’t drown it, I won’t deny,
I’ll carry it forward, open-eyed.
I don’t need forgiveness from the past,
I need permission to outlast.
There is a third door you never showed,
Not heaven, hell, or what I’m owed.
I don’t pick you, I don’t pick her,
I pick the self that learned to suffer
And still refused to disappear,
Still stayed when ending felt sincere.
This dichotomy breaks in my hands,
I choose to stand.
The modern sword was never steel,
It was naming what I feel.
It was saying “this hurt happened here”
Without turning it into a year...
No more trials inside my head,
No more bargains with the dead.
I won’t live as a verdict passed,
I’ll live as something that can last...
There is no god who needs my fall,
No love proved true by losing all.
I don’t pick silence, I don’t pick flame,
I pick the work of staying sane.
Not saved in time, but still alive,
Still unburied, still derived.
This dichotomy breaks in my hands,
I choose to stand...
The deep still echoes, but it waits.
I move forward.
I don’t erase...
LYRICS:
I stopped asking which wound gets the crown,
Stopped weighing the blade against the ground.
Two ghosts shouting from opposite sides
Demanding I choose how a man should die.
The sands still shift when I speak your name,
The ocean still tastes of borrowed shame,
But I see now the trick in the question asked,
It wasn’t a choice, it was a trap.
I am not the judge of my own erasure,
I am not a debt you get to measure.
There is a third door you never showed,
Not up, not down, not tied to the code.
I don’t pick you, I don’t pick her,
I pick the breath that stays unslaughtered.
No altar built from my remains,
No future bought with permanent pain.
Dichotomy breaks in my hands...
I choose to stand.
The devil taught time to eat itself,
Left clocks bleeding on the shelf.
She taught love could split like glass,
Cut you deep, then call it past.
But memory isn’t an enemy force,
It’s a map, with a damaged course.
I won’t drown it, I won’t deny,
I’ll carry it forward, open-eyed.
I don’t need forgiveness from the past,
I need permission to outlast.
There is a third door you never showed,
Not heaven, hell, or what I’m owed.
I don’t pick you, I don’t pick her,
I pick the self that learned to suffer
And still refused to disappear,
Still stayed when ending felt sincere.
This dichotomy breaks in my hands,
I choose to stand.
The modern sword was never steel,
It was naming what I feel.
It was saying “this hurt happened here”
Without turning it into a year...
No more trials inside my head,
No more bargains with the dead.
I won’t live as a verdict passed,
I’ll live as something that can last...
There is no god who needs my fall,
No love proved true by losing all.
I don’t pick silence, I don’t pick flame,
I pick the work of staying sane.
Not saved in time, but still alive,
Still unburied, still derived.
This dichotomy breaks in my hands,
I choose to stand...
The deep still echoes, but it waits.
I move forward.
I don’t erase...
