There's an ocean of silence between us,
And i feel like everytime we get closer,
We just drift further apart.
And I want you to know,
That right now I just want to fall asleep,
So that you wouldnt have to see me fall apart.
I know I said that I was afraid of dying,
But what if i was just lying?
Your threats mean nothing anymore,
An empty sound,
A gruesome cold war.
Innocent promises,
Dad,
Your rottenness is prominent.

The paper says its Tuesday,
But I don’t believe it.
And my charger lays on my bed,
But I cannot reach it.

I left my soul at the bottom of the wrong bottle,
Where no treasure could be found,
Only the writhing agony of emptiness
That I ended up drinking again.

If you’d ask me,
Loneliness tastes of whisky.
Love tastes of ***** and my soul tastes like ****.
I am a rotten person, with rotten ways.
I hate myself.

Four black walls
I feel like I'm dying

With eyes as black as the midnight sky,
And touch as soft as feathers.
You blocked the train of thought passing by in my mind,
The one I would've jumped in front of.
You brought my attention back to reality,
Yet I was still stuck in a dream-like daze.

The sound that covers my vision
Throws me back to the memories of my windowsill
The window I used to stare out of for hours at a time
Sitting by it, dangling my legs out
Wondering what would happen if I just jumped.

Roses coated the outside of the wall below the first story window I often found myself by.

The vision I dream twists and I find myself laying on the hardwood floor by my white windowsill.
It's nigh-time and the moonlight leaks into my room, shining a blinding light on to the door.
I stare at the ceiling and feel the vibrations of the music on the floor

The house is silent, I know I'm not alone
But in this moment, nobody can hear nor reach me.
I turn my head and look towards my windowsill, admiring the starry night I lay below.

I gently close my eyes and hum the lyrics of the song playing,
Just as I find myself doing right now.

Writers block creeps behind me,
I find myself not writing for weeks.
The disappointed sigh that I exhale whenever I sit by my laptop
Seems to be a whole routine by now.