there are so many words i could write you
but my mouth is locked again
my heart can't read anymore
wish i could tell you how i'd rebuild
the aurelian walls around you,
the king,
but i know my hands are useless now
and my mind has been washed away
by the same sea
you were trying to teach me
how to swim in.

and the beggars on the streets
they ask me for pennies
"from your kindness"
they say
but my cold eyes can't have it anymore.

my decisions are dark
i make mistakes
when i decide to whom i should give my soul,
when i decide what i should ****
when i forget everything i've learnt.

the music i used to love
the metaphors
they don't make sense to me anymore
not because i don't hear them
but because today
i've chosen to see and hear the reality.

sad-eyed lady i will be for some more
but i'll set you free from seeing the sadness
the pain
i wish i could love you
the way seagulls love to rest on the sand
the way children love their paper planes
i wish i could be
the angel you see
but i know
i am just a human being
stepping on souls.

claustrophobic mask
mystifies, impoverished
agony rumbles

The roots of trust are entwined in a soil of dependence.
The roots depend on the strength and warmth of the soil to provide nourishment.
Without dependence, trust begins to shrivel and fade,
it's roots slipping out of the loosened hold of the soil,
The plant falling,
lying alone in the cold shadows of the sun's rays.

To try to place it's roots back into soil can decay the plant further,
To try to hold up the plant without soil whilst being surrounded by nourished plants is even greater torture.
Almost any attempt is proven futile.

The only attempt one may make to have the plant to stand again is to find a very special soil.
One that meets the needs of the plants.
Soil that is willing to attend to the plant whenever the plant requires it,
to make sure trust doesn't wither in confusion,
to make sure that trust...
that trust doesn't suffer one time more.