Can I pull you back? Again? Once more.
Can I have you again? Can I?
Can I have you back here in my life?
Can I ask you to stay and never say good bye?
Can I hold your hand like I always do?
Can you hug me from behind, like what you always do?
Can you kiss my forehead again as I sleep?
Can you ask me to eat again and tell me not to skip.
Can we go to church like each Sundays that passed by?
Can we drive crazy in highways, as if we'll never die?
Can we laugh again, and again as if we're insane.
Can I be your girl again?
Can I wipe these tears with your hands babe?
Can I borrow your arms and wrap the to mine?
Can I wear your shirt again so I can feel you
Can you be the one that I would say, I do.
Can you be my forever bestfriend indeed.
Can you be my enemy, but will choose to defeat.
Can you mine again like the old times.
Can I have you once more and forever be mine...
But I know, that will never to come again... :(
i feel through anger
sometimes i want to love
i want to hold you close to me so that your breath
warms me up so much that i forget
i forget where i am
forget who i am
forget why i am angry
but i don't work like this
my heart doesn't pump blood
whiskey runs through my veins
and my cold hands
white like milk
could never hold you
as you are meant to be held
I wasn't taking advantage of her vulnerability.
It certainly was not a pity fuck.
She was crying, and clinging.
It was the only way I knew of
To make her feel good.
To give her a release.
Does that make me a good man?
What makes a man?
I don't know.
It is never an issue,
Until it is uttered out loud.
Now we both know
That she will open her legs before she opens her heart.
I'll told her that is stupid,
And that she is not stupid,
But still beautiful.
Does that make me a good man?
What makes a man?
I don't know.
I'd make her mine if I could.
As far as she's concerned,
She belongs to the weeds on her front lawn.
And her father told her no matter how pretty it looks,
It will always be bad,
It will always be toxic inside
She never got over that.
So now she looks very pretty,
But she fills herself with vodka and cocaine and all things
I've never been single for more than
A month or two since I was eleven.
I think the one thing I have learned the most
From all of that.
Is how to be alone.
How to be alone
With your psychotic mental diseases.
With your eating disorders
With your self harming
With your abuse.
My best friends are
My confidence has been denied.
I have very well tried.
And I will try to understand
Why you want to keep me hidden
Where no one can see me.
But you don't even want to know
What I have to say
What I have to feel
What I want to do.
Everyone has always tried to own my body.
My eating disorders,
And now you.
Which is why I still feel alone.
I've seen introverts become the center of attention
I've seen extroverts go ignored
I've heard complacent well-adjusted human beings
Cry out for something more
And there's a million and one things to do with life
So don't you dare be bored
Because there are three types of people in this world:
Those who do
Those who don't
And those who didn't, but wish they had
At times it's wrong to do what's good
Sometimes you've got to be bad
So don't you go on second guessing
Lest you end up with regret
Follow your instincts
Don't look back
'Cause there are three kinds of people on this earth:
Those in the future
Those in the past
And those in the present, so make it last
At times it happens all so fast
You forget to examine the extent of the impact
But don't you worry about forgotten things
They'll find their way back to you in your dreams
And there are those who will tell you that it's false
They'll comfort you with broken arms
To drag you down to into the swamp
Trying to stop you before you start
Now there are three sects of people on this planet:
And then the true believers
Examine your head to find the truth
Don't worry about what you can or can't proove
Nothing matters nearly as much
As the things that matter to you
You see, there's no right or wrong way to live a life
It all depends on how it makes you feel
The miraculous fact that you exist at all
Gives you the right to determine what is real
Because there are but three animals in this pen:
And the Golden hen
Sometimes depression can make you
feel like a
all numbly stuffed full of cotton,
forever glassy wide-eyed and expressionless,
sidelined hanging on a wall,
unable to engage and be a part of,
dumbly stared at,
Something about the way I like my roses black-
I don't mind being pricked by it's thorns-
blood running down my fingers can be pretty,
just like tears streaming down your face can be beautiful
and I'm not sure how the mind is supposed to hope,
but I hope for rain, some days, and to see your most imperfect imperfections,
I hope I trip on my walk to receive my diploma, and that I laugh at my bruised knees
because what is success without failure
and how do you get through a good day
without knowing what thorns feel like?
I expect my plans to be a game of jenga,
but I hope my determination will pull me through
i don't know how else
when i permit my thoughts
to dwell on you
you are an
utter mystery and terror
through my mind
is written on my face?
in my voice?
i fear the extent
of my foolishness
has yet to be revealed
and i feel like
i could follow you
up a mountain
without uttering a word of distress
though my body
be racked with exhaustion
and terror of failure
loomed great above me
who would complain
to be in step
with a creature like you?
i don't know
what this is
i'm afraid i know
what this is
and i cannot tell
if my feet are firm upon the ground
all i know
is perpetual summer
in your arms
I see all these beautiful, pretty, perfect girls here.
Writing about lost love and heartbreak.
When I see them..
I wonder who in their right mind would break their hearts.
They write with true pain and sorrow.
And they pray for their knight in shining armor to save them tomorrow.
Some smile in their pictures,
Some hide behind something,
Some hide in their smiles.
They're all diamonds.
Because gold is not enough.
They spend too much time
Watching their heart and dreams get stolen,
Watching their plans get crushed.
Hearing over and over she can't.
Maybe I'm guilty myself
Guilty of taking a life
And pushing and shaping it around
Making the mistake of building myself up so high cause I stupidly believed
it meant taking her and breaking her down.
Maybe it's my time to feel pain.
Maybe it's my time to feel shame.
Maybe that's why I'm alone.
Maybe that's why all I can say is
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
And this is when we
We are our very own
And our depression
Comes from within.
And every second longer
It hurts a little bit more
From your insides.
You feel that familiar ache
In your heart, your sad blood
Pumps it all around your body.
You breathe it in
With each sighing breath
And you cry it out
Until ÿöü gasp for air.
It's the self hate
And it's the loathing,
It's sitting in bed
And not eating at all
Or eating too much.
It's too many imperfections
On your skin
So deep it reaches the inside...
It's no power
And hopeless love
Of a nation
With every word they say
You hear the pain
In our laugh,
You can't see the smile in our eyes.
We are dead and wasted
At the age of youth.
We don't feel the free joy
Or the comfort of strong hands
All we feel is our sick hearts
With something that is
Hate and pity and horror
And everything into one.
It is dangerous.
We the people,
The new people,
The forever youth
With forever words,
And the forever pain.