Back here after years
different

This canvas soaks the blood
from the same broken heart

We are here again,
How did we get here?

Box full of pencils; Paper and clay
Her artistic soul painted my dreams

I found her Told her I loved her

Talk to me

I am made of dreams,
the world is not for me

_everything _ that's not me
I am the life that I will never live
or I'll ever be
In my head, I'm not me

In my head, I'm some person I met
or I'm with a girl I really like,
a careless 13 year old with lots of homework
and nothing to do on a sunday afternoon

Meeting everyone until I will find me

Metaphors; nested, unconncected.

High order entaglements due to a damaged brain.

Fulfiled, Afraid, confused, dreams make you petrified.

Ask yourself those questions.

Conceptualised, formulated and executed
in a damaged brain.

Tremendous courage and steady blood flow through my veins
clamp your fists and hold on tightly

I will make it through sane
on both my feet
even if I have to strain.

If its you who love me, I shall dream of you
and write about you,
from a damaged brain.

Museums; Statues; Words

Step into you,
keep you alive
in me, young I am.

Call me weak
for needing a canvas and a pen
strong, I call myself brave.

These ***** of feelings,
I'm not ready to show,
to each and everyone I wrote it for.

Years be: I won't forget about you
I will write about you, think about you
on a rainy sunday, while eating ice cream

last felt: They call it love

I don't miss it anymore

They make you, vulnerable
Expose you, let the people
figure you out.

Find the weakness, and pinch right there
But for I am strong and fierce
For I will not shed a tear
If anything happens

I shall remain upright on my feet
and if the day darkens
I'll paint it yellow
and stand by
this creed

Frost; Snow or ashes?, her tears
rain down on me.

Floating and falling, attentive but lost
into you.

Closed the door and went downstairs
with you in my mind.

Kicked the pedal and saw you from the window
with tears in your eyes.

last seen, crying in the bathroom
if found: tell her, I'm in the sky

I will wait for you

Far away he went.
Holding hands

He writes about you,
sings about you

and he doesn't stop
neither does the people
watching him.

"And this one for this girl who loved me".

Strings had the ability to compress a lifetime of
a journey
into music.