They say that love is an open door,
And if so, then I'd rather close it.
Because by the time you come back,
Even the windows will be shut.
All the doors will be closed,
Just like the wounds I once had.
Now they're nothing but scars,
And you're nothing but a stranger.
Sorry, but letting you in
Will only make me bleed.
I suggest you leave,
Because I'm already healed.
I don't have a sweet tooth for alcohol,
But I feel drunk.
My head's a galaxy,
Only it's not beautiful but messy.
I wanna believe I've finished a few bottles,
But my tongue wouldn't agree with me.
Although my heart would do so,
And it deduces that I am drunk.
The real question is, "With what?"
I guess only my brain can tell.
It was probably something beyond the calendar.
Interrogate my skin,
Or the scars beneath those layers.
Maybe they knew who did what?
Maybe they have the wine I shot?
Or is it wine --
Or just some fancy, heady memories?
Was it pain that was half full inside the glass?
Because it didn't look like *****.
But again, how can I be certain?
How can I tell?
If I feel so drunk right now.
Heading nowhere, we started to sail --
One afternoon, in a wooden boat.
Relief had been all that I'd exhale
As I cleared my tired, sore throat.
I had been shouting for a while,
I mean... who would not?
If comfort lies less than a mile,
One would celebrate and scream a lot.
That is until you decided to dive,
And immediately promised to be back at five.
You quickly jumped from the boat,
And through a lifesaver, you were afloat.
The sun was almost drowning
As I waited in the boat of wood.
Not a single soul was returning;
I really thought that you would.
From a distance, on the same blue water,
A familiar face was sailing elsewhere.
Without a word, I sailed afar;
Guided by the drowning star.
I left the wooden boat on the shore --
Heading nowhere, just like before.
The same old song,
Entangled on a phonograph;
Playing all day long
Even when the notes seem rough.
I am asking the moon once more
If she saw the balloons I freed.
The balloons I used to enamor
Are now nothing but words to bleed.
I yearn to see the same old colors
Until I realized I closed the door.
I need not another Trojan horse,
But a way to heal my core.
In hopes of taming the pain,
Fatigue starts to creep in.
Kindly fetch me another train;
Let a new day begin.
Unfinished songs, poems,
Letters, and messages --
And here I wait for more.
Perhaps a decent ending,
Or a bit of certainty will do.
But maybe that's just how
Some things are meant to end.
Once again, a rhythm of tears
Demanded to be sung--
Only to harmonize the voice of a child
Imprisoned inside his chest.
He has all the notes he needed
As well as the lyrics he wrote.
But when shall the singing start?
The gods won't give him a stage;
He might now be silent in rage.
Alone within a thick wall,
With no one to stay,
He reminded himself,
"It is better this way."