Every day people astound me and I don’t know why.
They’ll astound me util the day i die. Why?
Don’t get me wrong, but where are the important people,
I wouldn’t know one if I met one. I’ve never met one.
But they’d be all that much more special if one appears to me ever.
I thought I found one once, then twice, and a third time, but before long they fell to ruin under the weight of themselves, they were abnormal and reality was normal, always clashing, and crashing, and bashing heads with each other.
I cry, oh how I cry for them to come back to reality where I am trapped. I see their reality and they do not. I wish I was like them. I wish I couldn’t see their faults and mine. As I slip away and their eyes glazed with rose pedals, I let out a shout! “Take me!” but their grins grow wide with sweet eyes and they drink my tears while I cry for them. I am sunk like a forlorn ship in the storm long ago. Like the sorrow they write about, I am that reality without readers. Unbeautifully broken. My story is worth not their hearts.

My eyes still close dreaming of you.

At dawn's sight you will never fully see my vision
I speak of you where you will never fully comprehend
My nights realm you will never fully imagine
I miss you in ways you will never fully know
I love you where you will never fully feel

— after Melancholia



She’d have walked through fire for him —
A stranger with a fractured chameleon soul,
Tumultuous depths and misguided hymns,
But promises of patience and a steady stroll.

Stranger still, a fractured chameleon soul,
Restless beneath wind-tremors and silt-clay loam.
But with promises of patience and a steady stroll,
She follows the moon that leads her home

Restlessly. Wind tremors and silt-clay loam,
Burnt umber flicker-beats and faded birches.
She follows the moon, led home
To an abandoned, white-chip-painted church.

Beyond umber flicker-beats and faded birches,
He preached of salvation, but fell privy
Inside the abandoned, white-chip-painted church
Where green was gold and gold was envy.

He preached of salvation, but fell privy
To tumultuous depths and a misguided hymn.
Green was gold and gold was envy —
She’d have walked through fire for him.

"Why do you have a dead rose on your window?"
It's funny, because out of the many things I have that are either yours or what you have given to me, I kept the rose and a painting you made me. Those are the only two things in my room that I will allow to remind me of a love that once was there, but is now dead, just like that rose. I couldn't say this out loud, but what I wanted to say was that I have this dead rose on my window to remind me that even the most beautiful of things wither and die, and that love is *no exception. It's okay to remind yourself of such beautiful things, but living in a fantasy world does not help to heal, it only makes you delusional. I now know why it's always been so hard for me to live in the reality I belong to, and I think it's time to face it.