Intro (spoken, low) I don’t break all at once… I crack slowly. That’s what scares me. Verse 1 I wake up already behind on myself, like I missed a deadline I never set. Every breath feels like borrowed time, every calm moment feels suspect. I carry pressure like it’s proof I care, if I let it go I’m scared I’ll disappear. So I stay tense, stay hyper-aware, like peace is something I haven’t earned yet. I replay conversations I should’ve left alone, turn neutral moments into undertones. I don’t need reminders of where I went wrong — my mind already built that home. People say “give yourself some grace,” but grace feels foreign on my face. I don’t know how to accept relief without thinking it’s temporary. I look composed, I look in control, but that’s just habit, not confidence. Truth is I don’t trust who I am when I’m not under some kind of consequence. Hook There’s a fault line under my calm tonight, everything steady until it slides. I don’t collapse, I don’t ignite — I just feel myself misalign. I hold it together, barely intact, smiling while something splits in half. If I break, it won’t be loud or fast — just quiet damage I never patch. Verse 2 I second-guess before I commit, edit my thoughts till they’re safe to admit. By the time I’m ready to be honest, the moment’s gone and I’ve missed it. I don’t trust praise, it fades too quick, don’t trust silence, it makes me think. So I stay busy proving I’m fine while ignoring the cracks inside. I tell myself “you’re doing okay,” then list ten reasons why that’s a lie. I don’t need enemies in my head — I already perfected that side. I confuse discipline with self-attack, call it drive while I burn my back. If I slow down, guilt fills the space, like rest is something I have to justify. Some nights I just sit with the noise, not fixing it, not making a choice. I don’t want answers, I don’t want relief — I just want the pressure to loosen its grip on me. Bridge (quiet, honest) If I go silent, don’t read into it — I’m not quitting, I’m just worn thin. Not disappearing, not giving up — just standing where I am is enough. Final Hook There’s a fault line under my calm tonight, everything steady until it slides. I don’t fall apart, I don’t survive — I just exist between the lines. Maybe one day I’ll trust the ground, stop waiting for it to give out. Till then I stand, uneven but here — learning how not to disappear. Outro (spoken, steady) I’m not whole. I’m not healed. But I’m still standing on what’s real.

Fault line