Did the name that you changed make a difference in the way the mirror shows your face? Is it the sunlight you despise or is every morning a surprise? Did the place where you moved leave you wanting something more than a fresh coat of paint? Is every room a prison? Is every room a cell? You can't escape the faulty memories of years before you pray and plot most every night your escape to distant shores. But you can't leave, you won't leave. Did the ache ever leave your body from where your lover pressed into your skin? Is every breath still a secret? Is every breath a chore? As you drift into sleep where you lie, but don't dream this fear, somewhere deep your clock can't keep the time so well… it ticks so slow the minutes swell. But you won't leave, you can't leave. Is the taste in your mouth still bitter or did you choose to forget everything?