What do you call the other half of a half-truth,
the part you can't recall?
What do you call a feeling
that has no name today?
Do you tell yourself you're drowning
in the depths
of emotions you'd rather hide,
let yourself give in
because it's too difficult to try?

Do you fight the inquisitions,
the doubts that haunt your mind?
Do you do as I long to,
tell the thoughts they're nothing to you?
If you taught yourself to swim,
learned that drowning is an illusion,
can you show the others
that they shouldn't fear the dark tonight?

The other half of a half-truth
is the bit you're afraid to say,
and events you can't remember
can still teach you a thing or two.
Emotions won't have a name
until you pen them down
and give them a place in the dictionary.

Anxiety can only drown you
if you let your mind play games,
and depression only scares you
when you fear the inquisitions.