If time heals
Why do i hurt myself
Trying to prove to you
I'm no...

MISTAKE.

Running out of pages,
these words—
they turn into
a jumble of thoughts
no one can understand.
A work of art,
running out of ink,
that never came to be.

Roots—
they never blossomed,
they withered away,
drying up
under a pile of soil.

I'm ripping out pages
in anger,
clinging
to words
I might not even believe in.
One by one,
just to leave them
crumbled,
dust,
turning—
into sand.

The wind picks it up,
flipping to the next page,
that’s already starting to crumble.
My pen
starts to write
on its own.

Paradise,

A dream
With no screams,
No tears being shed.

No questions,
Only answers.

A world with no fight,
No bloodshed—
-
Only peace,
Harmony,
Companionship,
No Judgment
No killing,
-
A world where
We aren’t controlled
By our fears
Of the darkness
In the world
We live in.

A world
Where love
Wins
In the game of life—
-
Where kindness
Walks the streets freely,
Not bound by chains,
Not set free
Only when
There’s something to gain.
        
Paradise,
Every soul is seen,
Every voice is heard—
Where hearts reach out
Without fear,
And healing
Is no longer a dream.

Here,
We don’t expect paper,
Or wealth.
There is no greed.
Everyone opens
Their arms.
-
Everything is free—
Given,
Not taken.
Supported,
Not scolded.

A place,
To belong.
Where silence
Means peace—
Not loneliness,
-
Love isnt a option
Its a necessity.

One wrong turn
You cant turn back,
Life flashes before you
Like it never happend.

One wrong turn,
Everything burns
Down to the ground.

The song that speaks,
To a generation
The language—
Invading one's ears,
With a melody
To remember
For a lifetime.

In memory —
Not by just words
But the emotion,
The sounds it invites —
Into the room.

Something we all feel,
No need for words.

A room full of people
Can always be silenced,
Everyone singing along.
One song,
Many voices,
A quiet humming,
Till the chords run dry.