It pains me
That I’m always at
the dusty corners
Like old, forgotten books
Undusted for many years
So forgotten and unopened
that the pages would
stick together
And it would take a
real curious reader
To carefully
take their time
And unravel the pages
one by one
Without tearing them
And with delicate hands
that would soothe the soul
And bring it to life again

Je deteste pas le monde, ni les personnes
Quand je regarde la vie, je pense de Dieu
Il sait pourquoi, et je ne sais pas
Alors, mon debut est avec Il. Et ma fin est avec Il.
Et toujours, je tourne une nouvelle page

it's like I have to die,
for you to notice me,
and it hurts because,
all you have to do,
is cry a little,
and I would be by your side.

(e.k.j.)

sometimes, it's just the way you see the world
you can look at a deep bad situation
and still find something good in it

you can look at something considered ugly
and find the most beautiful thing in it

but i'm sorry if i can't find anything positive
whenever people are searching for their loved ones
between dead bodies and ashes

i'm sorry if i can't find anything good
whenever i see a grieving parent
talking about how they're never going to hold their kid again

hearts not only broken but destroyed
all over the world

and there's this question that lingers
"will this have an end?"

My soul, there is a country
  Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a wingèd sentry
  All skilful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
  Sweet Peace sits crown’d with smiles,
And One born in a manger
  Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious Friend,
  And—O my soul, awake!—
Did in pure love descend
  To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
  There grows the flower of Peace,
The Rose that cannot wither,
  Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
  For none can thee secure
But One who never changes—
  Thy God, thy life, thy cure.