The Tightrope Walker's Confession

I've learned to sleep through nights without the tremor

My reflection doesn't flinch when I stand still

But some part craves the vertigo I remember

The quiet feels like waiting in an ember

My spine aligned, my thoughts against my will

I've learned to sleep through nights without the tremor

December feels like June, or late September

The days blur into sameness on the sill

While some part craves the vertigo I remember

I know my name, my address, what I'm here for

Can list my strengths in interviews with skill

I've learned to sleep through nights without the tremor

But there's a static underneath my sternum

A hunger for the spinning and the fall

Like I'm most real when standing at the turn

Where certainty dissolves into the sprawl

The version of myself who knew no caution

Felt more alive than this controlled withdrawal

Though he was burning, barely holding on

At least he never questioned if he was small

I'm building something solid, not a tremor

A self that doesn't shatter or instill

This ache for all the vertigo I remember

I'm learning how to sleep without the tremor

To trust the ground beneath me standing still

Though some part craves the vertigo I remember

I'm finding who I am beyond the thrill

Am beyond the thrill

Am beyond the thrill

Am beyond the thrill