This is the end, beautiful friends
Meet me at the end
Of the prettiest memory lane
There is where i pretend
To not bid you all farewell.
Since the day your souls
Have forsakened me on my own,
Our times have flown
Like moths when the light is gone
But know, i loved you all
Even when i am awake at dawn
Thinking about what is it that i did wrong
Inside of me a river flows
A river made of tears and i drown
Until i wake myself and get down
Down on my knees, i crawl
Through your sludges of sorrow
I hate
I hate
I hate what you do to me
I hate that none of you know
But i’ll still bid farewell to you all
This is the end, my beautiful friends
Meet me at the end
Of the prettiest memory lane
Where there is nothing to save
And there is no more to say
Except i loved you
There is where it ends

I laugh—
Every time I’m on the edge of breaking.
When tears slip down,
Uninvited,
From eyes that were never meant to spill them.

I laugh with all I’ve got,
As if the sound can drown the ache—
As if pretending
Can make the pain behave.

I wear a smile like armor,
A mask of joy the world applauds.
But beneath it all—
Is a soul quietly screaming,
Begging to be held,
To be heard.

To be told:
It’s okay to cry.
It’s not weakness to feel.
It’s not a sin to break

If tears were red,
they'd have seen —
my white pillow stained by morning,
red marks blooming on the bedsheet,
on my face,
on my shirt.
My eyes, still puffy,
still red
from the bleeding of the night before —
not from wounds,
but from weeping.
Eyes not meant to bleed,
yet they did.

And still,
no one noticed
the colourless blood I’ve spilled.

Life isn't about healing wounds,
It is about healing hearts,
When all that fills us up,
Starts to shatter into bits and parts.
When our bodies decay,
And it eventually will,
We sit by the window sill,
Looking out and see the beauty,
The beauty of the night,
The blinding specks of light,
The stars that barely gets noticed.
When our bodies decay,
We go to doctors,
Not because we want to be fixed,
Because we prevent our dreams,
Like flying in a rocket,
from dying with us.

Life isn't about healing wounds,
It is about healing hearts.
We may witness people losing limbs,
But when they lose their spirit,
Their soul,
Their purpose,
That is when their heart is weakest.
When our bodies decay,
and it eventually will,
When we can't move,
And all we do is sit still,
If our heart keeps beating we're still alive
And you might think it's how to survive,
But fact is that the essence of feelings,
Come straight from the heart.
A mothers sight of her baby,
A fathers arms holding his baby.

Life isn't about healing wounds,
It's about healing hearts,
When our hearts is tainted,
with the venomous words,
that somehow tattooed and painted,
into our being.
Infectious words,
spoken on how weird we are,
or how dumb we are,
or how ugly we are,
or even how lonely we are.
Our hearts become corroded,
pieces of what they use to be,
for when a body is poisoned
it only dies when the heart does.

Life isn't about healing wounds,
It is about healing hearts.