Intro
It started like peace,
Or at least what I thought peace should feel like.
You were calm
but so is poison before it hits.
I told myself this was love.
But love doesn’t make your stomach knot
when the phone lights up.
Love doesn’t feel like waiting
for a storm to decide if you’re worth the rain.
Verse 1
You said you liked my softness,
but only when it served your strength.
Every time I needed something real,
you disappeared into "space."
And I, I called that maturity.
I called that patience.
But truth is, I was training my nervous system
to tolerate neglect and call it grace.
You’d go silent,
and I’d panic
scrolling through memories like medicine.
You knew the rhythm of my anxiety,
and you danced on it like a stage.
Pre-Chorus
But silence was never peace,
it was punishment dressed as calm.
And love was never healing
it was the high before the fall.
Chorus
This is the detox , the shaking, the scream,
the ache that wakes you from the dream.
You mistake adrenaline for peace,
you call control “release.”
But your body’s tired of begging ghosts to stay
this is what healing feels like
when you walk away.
Verse 2
You rewrote my boundaries
like edits in your script.
Taught me that love meant guessing,
and truth was a risk.
Every “sorry” felt rehearsed,
Every “I love you” sounded borrowed.
And I was addicted
not to you,
but to the hit of being almost seen.
Every time you left,
I promised myself I’d stop chasing.
Then your name hit my phone
and my trauma called it fate.
Bridge
You don’t miss them
you miss regulation.
The spike, the drop, the fixation.
Your body craves the chaos it knows,
even when it kills you slow.
Peace will feel foreign before it feels safe
but that’s still progress, not a mistake.
Chorus
This is the detox , the trembling truth,
Your hands shaking like a truce.
You confuse chaos for devotion,
But it’s just emotion in motion.
You stop mistaking pain for proof,
And start coming back to you.
Bridge 2
I threw out the notes,
the screenshots,
the playlist.
But I still find your voice
in my nervous system sometimes.
It whispers when I try to rest,
that I’m hard to love,
that calm means loss.
But I’m learning to talk back now
to say,
“No. Calm means peace.”
And peace doesn’t need permission.
Final Chorus
This is the detox , the flood, the flame,
The heartbreak calling me by name.
I stop explaining what you couldn’t see,
And start returning my energy.
You were never medicine
just the wound I kept picking.
Now healing’s the high
that’s finally sticking.