I find it interesting
how pleasing words are
when you are down.
How beautiful they feel
when you are empty.
How fullfiling it is,
when touch the letters.
How safe it is
to write it down.
How bizarre
when you realize
you are only honest
when nobody is looking.
How you lie even to yourself
and when it comes to truth
you write it where no one will see it.

Are you scared?
Scared to tell them
because the thoughts are deep, strange, painful.
Scared to know they know
because it might scare them.
How broken you are.
So you are here,
writing it down,
letting it out
and then you go back,
to your head.

Happiness, what  is that?
A feeling, state of mind
or just transient thought trough your mind.

I hope it picks a person
and then goes to another
and another, till it makes a circle.
One day, it will reach me.
It has to... right?

Maybe it just lost its way.
Maybe it got stuck.
Maybe I just need a little luck.
Maybe Im not part of the circle.

I guess it is like a game.
You play and I,
but there is only one winner.
There is no blame,
no fear,
but no patience either.
I waited for too long,
but it doesnt go along
with anything I do.

I wonder how it feels.
Is it like a garden?
It tickles your nose
touches your hand
helps you stand
navigate you through the life.

It´s like waiting at a bus stop,
right after the last bus leaves.
It´s like standing in a rain
after you put the dress on.
It´s like looking at a candle,
with the last match you just broke.
It´s like looking at someone
who will never look at you.