I long for that day where I can close my eyes and give up forever. When I’m able to let go. Peacefully. But maybe I will not go like that. Maybe I’ll have to also fight my way out. I’m a Viking after all. And the waters were always dark. Wild, wavy, deep. So I couldn’t rest. So my skin cracked, my eyes stung. I haven’t been soft since childhood. But I do know what caring about someone means. And music is a medicine that helps more than anything ever could. Doctors could never give me anything that helped. This world has taught me so many lessons. Has made me experience so much. Hopefully I can use this to get a broad perspective on existence. I think I will. But for now I don’t know where my ship is sailing. Not in calm waters. That’s all that I can say. I want to sleep. I want to go home. I want to sail towards the sky. Drown into the deep sea. And never come back to the shore of this world.

I’m a curious child sitting in a tree. Looking at a different world beyond hers. And it’s different there. Some things are better, some are worse. They have mercy but rules. She has no mercy but freedom. So she calls out to the God from the side she views. Asks for mercy from that God. Even though she can’t be part of the people that live there. The God still hears her. And understands it’s not for her to be there. But she needs to feel mercy. So he sends it to her anyway. Letting her finish her journey in her own world. And she is free but she’s watching and listening to other worlds. She picks up what she needs to. Discovering what belongs to her. She doesn’t judge. Just sees that there are many journeys beside hers.

I’m tired.
You’re tired.
Sleep required.

But things are not right.
So staying up. Pouring a cup.
Hot chocolate…

And later fixing, always fixing things.
And the day was overwhelming so drinking. Shutting down, feeling worse than before.
Of course, a cycle of more, more, more.

And less rest, stressed.
I’m not alone, yet so alone.
Not a home, not a place.
Parents from back in the days saving face.
Not the children.

Like having them was also just a social construct.
And it hasn’t changed.
But now parents are supposed to give them a choice.
As if they have any.
Being put in this world.
It’s empty.
Sad and demanding.

So we freeze or escape.
At least we try to.
But some need to stay, it’s not their time to.
Not their time to leave.
It goes on forever, torture, pain, fighting, grief.
So much learning, developing, experience.
Never ending.
Story.
Telling.
Finally telling.

No longer covering up truth pouring out from our insides.
No more.
Lies.
Saving face.
Just crying and sad.
Save us!
Let us be, set us free.
Let us go.
World of sorrow.
Let us live.
Not be dead in here.
Die in fear.
Let us run and escape.

Fly like heroes.
Take our own shape.
Have our own love.
Find our kin. From whitin, fly above.

Above the pain that’s been going around.
Cycles finally broken and we are found by mothers of the universe.
We are loud, proud and free.
Having experienced this for eternity but now finally we come out.

So empty, too full.
She gave all she could.
But pouring water kept her from breathing.            
Well then what is left to do but drown?

But then look at them judging, why ain’t she swimming?
Can’t breathe, can’t breathe.
They stand there and tell her exactly what to do.
From the sideline.
All she ever asked was for them to understand why.
Why she drowned and sank.

But it was too much to ask so she drowned alone again.
And this time she gave in.
She gave up and blocked out everyone who never listened to her begging.
Just understand that all she was asking was for you to believe that it really was pouring and pouring and pouring.
And it never stopped…

I need to think of myself as a soldier. In this war zone called earth. It gives me strength. To conquer these battles… 🔥🪖💥🔥 Only in death I may find piece. Mayday 👊🏻⭐️🫡🩸

Are you ok?
Why can I not be with the people that I love the most? Why do I not even know how they are right now? My mental health gets in the way. I’m not ok, ok? And I’m pretty sure you’re not doing much better than me. So from a distance here’s my love. I hope it reaches you. I might as well be dead. It’s just the same. But now let’s meet each other in dreams if we could actually sleep. I’d hold you like I can’t when I’m awake. I will never let you go. Not in death, not in my heart. We are together somehow. Somewhere, some time. Hold on until I can hold you. We’ll be ok, ok?

A man once told me a story.
He was a night guard at a facility.
About how when you do something out of love it’s no longer a task.

And I figured I could try to apply that for many things I have to do.

But nowadays it seems like even out of love it’s not ok.
Dealing with the same old.
I think that’s it, it gets old.
Even for love.

Love doesn’t have to get old but I do and the things I do to.
So even out of love doing them feels bad and exhausting.
It’s not going smoothly.
I’m also feeling lost and out of options to be able to get through life again.

Cause where can I go again?
And starting again feels like trying to fix an old engine.

It runs but it’s still exhausted.
It’s never fresh and new.