I am nothing but a spring flower,
waiting to rise from the once frozen ground
and claim her return.
I am nothing but the summer air,
with a tint of hope,
with a tint of freedom.
I am nothing but an autumn leaf,
counting down to the day
I let myself fall.
I am nothing but winter frost-
enchantingly
mesmerizingly
born from the cold.

Do angels taste regret?
It seems unnatural
To count the feathers that remain,
When all the rest have turned to ash.
Reclaim your wings,
Even if broken,
Even if unholy,
Even if they cut into your ribs
when you try to sleep.

The sky never swore to protect;
It only promised to allow the fall.

A voice is calling my name,
from fogged surroundings,
begging me to come.
My legs are led into pitch
and I dive in deep,
oblivious to my own decline,
into a continuous darkness of self.
The voice still bellows,
with newly found screams,
and mean eyes gaze at me,
glowing with satisfaction.
I am eaten out alive by the unknown
and going back is not an option.

The only thing I've got left
Are three rose petals
From the night
You made me your own.
They were once white,
Pure, hopeful, innocent,
Much like me,
A fragile petal in your claw.
Now, they've become yellow,
Much like our love,
Ill, broken,
Decomposing.
Perhaps I should let them go
And be carried by the wind
In the place of all things lost.
Only I would have to go too,
For I am no longer found
By you.

I wish I could break out of myself,
and maybe from afar I could understand
everything that I am made of
and I could make sense of the shadows in my head,
because I can't see through the fog anymore,
and sometimes when I look in the mirror,
I don't recognize myself.
.Rock bottom hurts like hell
and I can barely see the way out.
Maybe running away isn't the answer,
but I wish I could do it.
Maybe that's what I've been doing all this time,
just running away from myself.
I'm too scared to sit still.
I'm too scared to catch up with myself.
I just want to be free.
Out, out, out.
I want out.

Sure,leave,
there's nothing left to do.
All words have been shouted,
all hope has been lost,
all tears have been cried.
Take your roses and burn them.
They don't keep me warm anymore.

I'd never thought I would wake up
and my first thought wouldn't be you.
But I had tottered
and I had fallen
with your face before my eyes
for far too long.
On my way up,
I could not recognize it anymore
and mornings no longer
knew of your existence.

You never gave me a second thought.
I know that.
Meanwhile, I can't stop writing about you
in the emptiest moments of the night,
when nothing else tortures me more.
You have no idea
what you've unlocked inside of me.
You can't possibly know
what you've done.
I'm burning down to ashes
and I'm coming back to life every time.
You were my first fire.
You didn't care if I'd revive.

Hello, restless stranger.
May I tell you
you're a work of art?
I've never seen anything like it.
Your movements, your body,
they feel unreal,
synchronized with a beat
that my heart's too untrained to sense.
But your mind's the masterpiece:
all sparks and music and space dust,
with a touch of darkness,
with a touch of sorrow.
I've been watching you, stranger.
I can't help but do it.
You light up my imagination
and you're wonder to my eyes
and I must confess,
I'm fascinated and completely mesmerized.
I know you're not for me, stranger,
and I promise not to tell,
but I'd keep you on repeat forever,
were you to be mine.

Sweet uncertainty
was something I had to feed my body off of,
when there was nothing else to hold on to.
Everything was colorful,
for my eyes were trained to see signs
of soon-to-be-lives.
Now, when the only thing I've got
is the definite stain of ink on paper,
life is gray.
And gray is my favorite color.

Such a betrayal-
to be deserted on the floor by your own body,
to be reduced to darkness by your own eyelids,
to be denied air by your own lungs.
The senses fade,
the will vanishes,
the colours run dry.
Something has died.
And now flies swarm around my mind.

I let myself sink into you,
not once regarding warnings
of storms and wrecks.
I pass them by,
being certain the fall shall hurt.
But why should I care?
I'm hopeless and I'm cursed
and I'd rather drown into your waters
than dry up completely
on the shore.

I could never doubt my soul
under a clear night sky;
not when stars are calling my name,
not when the moon watches over me
motherly.
I belong to them and the dark
and to light, piercing thick pitch.