glassed room without a door
green trees, the scent of spring
bird songs and tears falling from the blu(e)
he is tearing up (papers), the young sky
little drops on leaves and benches
forming one sad sea
filling it with sad songs and sad humans
drowning the earth in dark water
like sitting in a room with no escape
with a key having no value
and value having no purpose
(sand and) sea
the forest is crying
alone surrounded by air (and flowers)
this (place) is so lovesick
and so am i

i don´t remember anything
you dropped me on the ground,
where your lies hung in the room like windows,
where my hopes felt like smashed glass in my brain,
where fake people with fake feelings for me fake endin´ this fake relationship of fake desasters and fake affaction
in which attention rolls on the floor boards like when you dropped a jar that spread all its pearls
well isn´t this what we´ve been doin´ ever since?
rollin´ ´em pearls?
you brought me nothing but pain
and i can´t stop thinkin´ about you
but i don´t want you back
maybe i just want you to miss this
to miss the jar in your shelf
do i really don´t remember anything or do i just start realising?
the truth is, i still love you
but you never did

on friday you said you love me,
on saturday you ignored me
plans were made up,
minds too
you were drunk,
but i wasn´t
your head was clear,
but mine wasn´t
keeping me online,
but phoning with others
"stone cold, stone cold, you see me standing,
but i´m dying on the floor"
it´s a thing.
between two lips,
a kiss i got from you
the taste of longing,
the taste of you.

it’s a thing,
between you and me,
between the seat you took next to me,
and the next station you leave,
resting my head on your shoulder,
resting your number on my phone,
“tired of oxygen”,
“but never tired of you”.
the warming december