Misled by my own malignant
bones I could not control my emotions turned the tide into bloodmoons followed the path of shadows roaming the road to nowhere then after seventy second chances I look at you thinking I've finaly found myself in living purgatory

I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.

Black is my favorite color,
    for this I wish to only see black.

Black is not just for the night,
    nor set aside for death.

Black is not owned by the shadows,
    nor bent for the broken hearted.

Black is my intimate thrill,
    for it's the color I see as my lips kiss you.