If there's empty spaces in your heart,
They'll make you think it's wrong,
Like having empty spaces,
Means you never can be strong,
But I've learnt that all these spaces,
Means there's room enough to grow,
And the people that once filled them,
We're always meant to be let go,
And all these empty spaces,
Create a strange sort of pull,
That attract so many people,
You wouldn't meet if they were full,
So if you're made of empty spaces,
Don't ever think it's wrong,
Because maybe they're just empty,
Until the right person comes along.

Heaven surely does exist; people with depression must have known it all too well. Heaven is a place without bodies, therefore without physical needs. Nothing has ever felt emptier than abandoning your own stomach and your own lungs. Heaven is a place without sleep, even without sleepiness. All is pure and cold but there's no skin to feel that anyway. Heaven is a place without ambition, without the need to be on top. Communists must have learned it from them, though all with flesh shall fail. Heaven is a place where dead people live, where tomorrow nor yesterday do not exist, where today is one eternity. All is numb and enough, nothing could ever be better nor worse. Heaven is satisfied. Heaven falls to your brain, but all with flesh shall fail.

Good morning my sweet girl is time for you to take a shower and cry the rest of your heart out because of that guy who isn't worth half of a tear. Open the faucet completely so your parents can't hear your hopeless cry.
The shower is over, step out of it and dry every single part of your body, including your soul. I'm not sure if a towel will be enough to do so.
Then put on your mask of shades and dusts on your face, that one you call makeup. Put it in, become someone else. Some shades over here, a little bit of lipstick and voilá! No trace of a tear.
Now the most important part, smile, my dear. Smile as if you were truly happy. Pretend that you don't give a **** about anything or anyone. Pretend that how you look expresses your inside. Prettend that you never cry, that your life is amazing and that you're a bad girl.
Lie, lie to everybody. Lie to your mom about not wanting to go to school anymore. Lie to your friends about that guy who's crying for you. Lie to the world... But you can't lie to yourself. And for you that part is  the worst.

Of all the dark rooms I have visited in my life
There's this one which my heart,
                                     my tears;
                                     and blood;
            have built a home at
Every part of me clashes in each wall
And I can feel my consciousness fade out with the rest of the world
I bathe in my existence alone
(in the deepest secrets that flow in my veins)

            Scratches on the floor.
            Footprints on my heart.
            Wrecks from the ceiling.
            Cobwebs in my mind.

Sighs
Warm and heavy and bittersweet sighs;
The forces within are the air I breathe
It suffocates my lungs but still allows me to live
It is toxic and I like it,
                                     every
                                     single
                                     corner
                                     of it
It is an obscure, bad, bad room only my alter ego knows about
Like a cozy place for making love.
Like a perfect space for plotting crimes.