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A steady, grounded album about living at the edge of change: not dramatic transformation, but subtle internal shifts — unlearning survival responses, loosening control, and finding release without needing a clean “fix.” It’s built around restraint and honesty
9 tracks • Album · Min $5.00 · published
I feel the weight move under me Not falling — just rearranged Same ground beneath my feet But it doesn’t hold the same Breath comes in, breath goes out Nothing broken, nothing fixed I’m standing where I always stood But something in me slips I don’t know when it started I just know it hasn’t stopped I’m still here — shifting Holding steady, losing grip No collapse, no lifting Just the balance learning where it sits I’m still here — listening To the space between the hits Nothing gone, nothing given Still here — shifting The silence feels a little loud When I stop filling every space Old defenses stay in place But they don’t fit the same I don’t reach, I don’t retreat I just notice where I lean There’s movement in the quiet now Like something waking underneath I’m not searching for an answer I’m just hearing what I missed I’m still here — shifting Holding steady, losing grip No collapse, no lifting Just the balance learning where it sits I’m still here — listening To the space between the hits Nothing gone, nothing given Still here — shifting If this is how it starts I won’t rush it into shape If this is just the ground moving I’ll stay awake Still here — shifting Not the same, not out of place No conclusion written Just the weight adjusting where it lays I’m still here — breathing In the silence I don’t fix Nothing ends, nothing begins
There’s a splinter in the silence Running underneath my skin A fault line I keep buried Where the fractures all begin Every breath turns unsteady Every truth cuts when it shows I’ve been stitching up the edges Of the parts nobody knows If I showed you where it hurts Would it heal — or make it worse? I’m standing on this splinterline Between the fear I feel and mine One wrong step and I might fall One step back, I lose it all If you reach for me tonight Touch me slow — don’t pull me through I’m cracking where the quiet shines Here along the splinterline There’s a tremor in my breathing Something fragile giving way I’ve been carrying these pieces Like they’ll hold if I obey But the seams are growing thinner And my hands are wearing through Every fracture starts to open When I stand too close to you If I fall into your hands Will you flinch — or understand? I’m standing on this splinterline Between the fear I feel and mine One wrong step and I might fall One step back, I lose it all If you reach for me tonight Touch me slow — don’t pull me through I’m cracking where the quiet shines Here along the splinterline Maybe breaking isn’t failure Maybe it’s where truth begins Or maybe it’s the moment I mistake the crack for skin Still standing on this splinterline Close to yours and close to mine If I shake, don’t make a sound Don’t drag me off this narrow ground No promise drawn, no healed design Just hold the edge… not cross the line I’m learning where the fracture signs Here along the splinterline Here along the splinterline
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Gift this release
Buy this release for someone else. They get a link to claim it, and your payment goes straight to the artist.
We send a private claim link. Anyone who has it can claim the gift, so keep it between you and them.
Minimum $5.00. Pay more to give more.
I feel it snap before I think The instinct fires, the distance grows Hands pull back, jaw locks shut I’m already gone before it shows Every nerve remembers fast Every lesson carved in bone I don’t choose to close the door My body does it on its own I don’t stop to ask if I’m safe I just move I recoil — not from you From the shape of what it takes to stay I recoil — every truth Feels like something I can’t face No warning sound, no second thought Just survival in control I don’t run — I snap back hard I recoil I’ve learned the signs, I’ve learned the cost The quiet right before it breaks Every time the air gets soft My muscles tense, my balance shakes I don’t need the threat to show I don’t need the past replayed The moment closeness finds my skin The signal hits — retreat engaged I don’t wait to feel the damage I just move I recoil — not from you From the shape of what it takes to stay I recoil — every truth Feels like something I can’t face No warning sound, no second thought Just survival in control I don’t run — I snap back hard I recoil This isn’t fear — it’s memory This isn’t choice — it’s trained in me I recoil — not from you From the weight I haven’t named I recoil — every step Feels like standing in a flame I don’t pause, I don’t decide I just guard what I can hold I don’t flee — I pull back fast I recoil I recoil — not from you From the weight I haven’t named I recoil — every step Feels like standing in a flame I don’t pause, I don’t decide I just guard what I can hold I don’t flee — I pull back fast I recoil
I don’t remember picking it up Just know it’s always been here Layer by layer, year by year Something settled in my chest I call it strength, I call it calm I call it staying in control But every step feels measured now Like I’m bracing for the load I don’t feel the strain all at once Just the way it never leaves I’ve been carrying the weight Like it’s part of who I am Holding ground, holding shape Doing all that I can I don’t know when it got this deep I just know it doesn’t fade I’m not breaking — I’m just tired Of carrying the weight Every silence has a cost Every pause adds something on I don’t drop what pulls me down I just learn to move along Old decisions, borrowed rules Promises I never made All of it stays on my back Every step, every day I don’t ask if I still need it I just lift it when it shifts I’ve been carrying the weight Like it’s part of who I am Holding ground, holding shape Doing all that I can I don’t know when it got this deep I just know it doesn’t fade I’m not breaking — I’m just tired Of carrying the weight Maybe this isn’t punishment Maybe it’s just what I learned to do Maybe I never set it down Because I never knew I could Still carrying the weight Still standing where I land Not asking for it gone Just trying to understand If I pause, it pulls me down If I move, it stays the same I’m not lost — I’m just aware Of carrying the weight
I don’t feel the weight let go I just feel my grip relax Still the same load on my back But I’m not bracing for the crack Every rule I learned to hold Starts to loosen when I stand Nothing moves — but something waits Just beyond where I am I don’t have to drop it now I just don’t have to pretend I’m standing at the threshold Not inside, not out No step taken forward No step backing down I’m not leaving what I know I’m just loosening my hold I’m standing at the threshold And that’s enough for now I built the armor piece by piece Every layer earned its place It kept me breathing through the years It kept me standing in the rain But standing still feels different now Like the ground is asking why I don’t hear a warning sound Just space where fear used to reside I don’t need to cross the line Just see it for what it is I’m standing at the threshold Not inside, not out No step taken forward No step backing down I’m not shedding who I was I’m not proving I’m whole I’m standing at the threshold Just loosening my hold If I stay here a while Nothing breaks If I move when I’m ready Nothing’s late Still standing at the threshold Breathing in, breathing out No promise of tomorrow No verdict handed down I don’t need a moment That explains it all I’m standing at the threshold And I don’t have to fall
My hands keep reaching for the brace Even when there’s nothing there I stand upright, but something waits For impact I don’t feel prepared Every move I learned by force Still fires when I hesitate I don’t know how to stand at ease I only know how to anticipate The danger’s gone But my body doesn’t know I’m unlearning how to carry it Unlearning how to stay on guard Every step feels misaligned Every breath lands a little hard I’m not falling, I’m not free I’m just standing where I land Trying to remember who I am Without the weight in my hands Silence doesn’t feel like peace It feels like something I forgot I reach for space, then pull away Unsure of what I’m asking for I don’t miss the pain itself I miss the rules it gave my fear When nothing tells me when to brace I don’t know why I’m still here I’m safer now And somehow less at ease I’m unlearning how to carry it Unlearning how to stay on guard Every step feels misaligned Every breath lands a little hard I’m not falling, I’m not free I’m just standing where I land Trying to remember who I am Without the weight in my hands If I loosen what kept me alive I feel exposed, I feel awake If I hold on just a little longer I disappear — but I feel safe Still unlearning how to carry it Still unsure of where I stand Not reaching for the armor Not pretending I’m in control I don’t need to get it right I just need to stay aware I’m unlearning how to live With the truth I’m learning there
In the quiet I’ve been carrying There’s a voice I couldn’t trace Like an echo growing softer In a long-forgotten place I’ve been walking through the shadows Of the things I couldn’t say But the silence has a shape now And it’s steady when I stay If you listen close enough You might hear me letting go Not of everything I’ve lost Just the weight I shouldn’t hold There’s a calm inside this stillness Where the noise can’t redefine I’m learning how to breathe again In the shape of my silence There were words that fell to pieces Long before they reached the air There were nights I held them tightly Thinking breaking meant repair But the truth lives in the quiet In the parts that never speak What I lost was just the armor What I found was space beneath If you listen close enough You might hear me letting go Not of everything I’ve lost Just the weight I shouldn’t hold There’s a calm inside this stillness Where the noise can’t redefine I’m learning how to breathe again In the shape of my silence Maybe strength is not the shouting Maybe healing’s in the hush Maybe hearts relearn their rhythm When they’re held, and not just pushed If you listen close enough You might hear me settling in Not with answers, not with triumph Just a pause beneath the din There’s a light inside this quiet That I don’t need to define I’m learning how to stay with it In the shape of my silence In the shape of my silence
The weight doesn’t vanish when I stand It just loosens when I breathe I don’t feel it in my hands Every time I try to leave The ground still shifts beneath my feet But it doesn’t pull me down I’m not fixed — I’m just not braced For impact all the time I don’t need to push it away I just let it pass This is release — not repair Not a moment that makes sense Just the air feeling lighter When I stop holding my breath I don’t know what comes next I don’t need it to be clear I’m not healed, I’m not whole But I’m easier to be here The silence moves when I let it Doesn’t press against my skin I don’t reach for what I carried Every time the quiet sets in There’s room between the thoughts now There’s space around the pain It still exists — it always will It just doesn’t feel the same I don’t need to name the feeling I just feel it change This is release — not repair Not a victory parade Just the load a little lighter Every time I stop and stay I don’t know what comes next I don’t need to pretend I’m not healed, I’m not whole But I’m breathing easier again Maybe this is how it starts Not with answers, not with grace Just the weight not pressing hard Every time I take a step This is release — not the end Just the moment I can move Not escaping what I’ve been Just not carrying it through I don’t need to outrun the past I don’t need to disappear I’m not healed, I’m not whole But I’m lighter being here This is release — not repair Not a moment that makes sense Just the air feeling lighter When I stop holding my breath I don’t know what comes next I don’t need it to be clear I’m not healed, I’m not whole But I’m easier to be here To be here To be here To be here
I don’t know what waits ahead I don’t name it when I move Every line I’ve ever drawn Feels thinner when I choose The ground still shifts beneath my feet But I don’t freeze or stall I’ve learned the weight won’t follow me If I don’t carry it at all No signal clears the way I step anyway I’m crossing — not escaping Not chasing solid ground Just leaving where I learned to stay When fear was all I found I don’t know what’s on the other side I don’t need it to be clear I’m crossing — still uncertain But I’m moving from here Old habits start to fade When I stop rehearsing doubt I don’t turn to check behind me I don’t measure my way out There’s no promise in the air No voice telling me I’m right Just the sense that standing still Is heavier than the night I don’t wait for certainty I move I’m crossing — not escaping Not claiming higher ground Just walking where the path appears Without a backward sound I don’t know who I’ll be out there I don’t need to decide I’m crossing — still becoming Letting motion be my guide If I stumble, I’ll adjust If I pause, I’ll breathe I don’t need to outrun myself To know I’m finally free I’m crossing — not the ending Not the place I finally land Just the choice to keep on moving Without the weight in my hands I don’t know what waits ahead I don’t need to arrive I’m crossing — still becoming And that’s enough to survive I’m crossing I’m crossing Still becoming