My chest is like an open heart surgery where everyone that goes by just takes a piece like it's a ******* drive-thru with free taxes. It's not on the house when there is no home. My parents didn't raise me to give to the homeless so I guess karma is a ***** after all. I am still waiting for people to return the pieces for recycling so I can stitch myself back together. But I guess I will always have holes in my chest because you died with pieces of me.

I forget how to hold back the tears from burning in daylight. They only know darkness where they are as free as a bird can be when it is locked in a cage filled with hunters trying to tear off every feather one by one only to leave it tortured and afraid on the floor.

I forget how to breathe so I throw my heart out the window from 6th floor trying to make it catch its breath and fly away like a bird but it always ends up where it started. I sometimes forget that I am not free.

En flæbende mekanisme der hiver efter vejret imellem gråden.
Venter på at luften løfter dit bryst
Venter på at blodet gør dine kinder røde.
Drænet for tårer men græder videre i håb om at mine tåre virker som i Disneyfilm og du vågner igen.

Your mind has turned grey and fifteen years back from the reality everyone else is living in. Your mind has not passed the next milestone. Still stock at number 7. Never long enough arms to reach number 8. You lay in your bed of sorrow and despair. Afraid of being left behind with your own thoughts of childhood and imaginary friends. Only your friends have turned to black shadows of what you could have been and never will be.