How can I forgive if you keep Punishing me?

How can I forgive if you keep punishing me?

A judge in a courtroom built entirely of bone,
I sit on a bench that is jagged and cold.
For crimes I committed in shadows unknown,
For stories my terrified memory won't hold.

There is no indictment, no charge on the page,
No witness to whisper the where or the when.
Yet daily I lock myself into the cage,
And turn the invisible, rusted-out pen.

How does a heart grant a pardon at last
To hands that are guilty of nothing at all?
How do I bury the ghost of a past
That never quite happened, yet forces the fall?

I sentence myself to the weight of the air,
For sins I can't name in the dead of the night.
I’m begging for mercy from no one is there,
And blinding myself with a self-inflicted light.

To forgive is a bridge over rivers of stone,
But how do I cross when there’s no water deep?
I am haunting a house that is empty and lone,
And punishing ghosts that refuse to go to sleep.