from by Miles From Exile

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My words were spoken from a place of genuine regard,
Yet they were used against me from the very start,
I've never known the air to be a luxury, but,
They seemed to have found a way to reach inside of me...

And somehow keep my lungs from opening.
The things we do for money...

Take me away from my self-harm,
This time they've turned the knife on me.

I miss the comfort of your arms, so telling,
Of the way things could be.

But instead,
This manifestation of my anxiety,
Is what is fed,
Into my blood stream.

Please take me away from their self-harm,
This time I've turned the knife on me,
I'm worried that they've gone too far...

As, the faultless mirror,
Projects an image onto me,
As, I look in terror,
I start to see what they see.

Losing myself,
Inside my very own self-doubt,
My self-imposed hell,
Perhaps it's time to do without.

I miss the comfort of your arms, so telling,
Of the way things should be.

It's time to open up the doors,
And let the sunshine in,
It's time to travel to the moors,
To set fire to their whims,
Reclaim my sense of self-esteem,
My worth,
Who I am.


from Transcend, released April 20, 2016



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Miles From Exile Chicago, Illinois

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