when we love someone,
we give our hearts away.
to those who aren't fortune's favored,
their hearts are taken permanently.
but the heart we can reform,
and reform,
and reform, again and again,
but after a while, we forget how the genuine one feels like,
and all we are left with is the shadow of what used to be.

i was drowning
but then came the pouring rain
and for the first time i could breathe

the glass on the table no longer tempting,
the voices in my head no longer speaking,
and the smoke that suffocated me have left for the night.

sober nights like this are what make me glad i didn't call you in the dark of night,
asking for a place in your heart that was never mine.
sober nights like this are what make me realize i was right,
right not to ask favors you were sure to decline.

they say doing nothing is an impossible thing to do, but sober nights like this are when i do impossible things for you.

shattered glass on the floor
but they were not mine nor were they yours
because we kept ours and so we dont bleed

i know tomorrow the wolves will howl again,
i know tomorrow i will miss the silent,
but while i can say this to myself, i'll ever be grateful for

sober nights like this take up my regrets,
regrets that i could have had if i crept on your blankets in the moonlight.
sober nights like this give ease to things i fret,
because here i get acknowledge the cost of fleeting delights.

the ghouls in my head make it hard for me to see, but sober nights like this let me know what's good for me.

the glass on the table no longer tempting,
the voices in my head no longer speaking,
and the smoke that suffocated me have left for the night.

i know tomorrow the wolves will howl again,
i know tomorrow i will miss the silent,
but while i have control over myself, i want to burn this to my head:

sober nights like this come and go,
and i know tomorrow i'll be drunk in my thoughts.
sober nights like this are hard to let go,
and even harder to remember after the return of the demons i fought.

i'm a slave to the darkness that broods inside, but at least in sober nights like this, for a while, to myself, i can lie.

i closed my heart and hid the key.
for protection,
for deception,
for reservation.
but now far too much time has passed
and when i decided to unshackle the locks,
i've regretfully discovered
that the key has long since rusted,
and the vault will be forever closed.

they call me brutally honest
with words that spare not even the most fragile,
with jabs that tear through hearts and leave scars,
done in an arena where the weapons are dampened by rules, culture, and norms.
if this holds true,
then how harsh do they think the battle is fought in solitude,
where the only one who oversees what can and cannot be said and done is myself?

"do you know why i'm always right?" he, nothing but a boy without reason to exist, asked in the depth of their conversation.

"because you're smart," she said, echoing the words of tens, dozens of others in the exact same assured tone.

"no," he replied, his draw of breath done so meticulously as if the words he'll utter were from an overused script, "because i'm a pessimist,"

"because i accept the fact that if anything can go wrong, it will. if even the slightest chance of misfortune exists, the universe will favor it. this is the truth, and people prefer to keep living in the lie because they think it indefinitely can protect them from the pain. but the truth? the truth always prevails."

these walls were made to be unbreachable
built on the heart that shattered countless times
no giant has ever ruptured this rubble
and no god had enough power to see inside

so when the fissures started appearing
and the stones slowly watered down
i ascend to see nothing but a weakling
with velvet words and eyes of brown

delicate and precious as the intruder may seem
his dance was probing and destructive
the words he spoke fractured the seams
and the walls could do little to disrupt him

panic kept rising as the questions insued:
was the intruder a blessing? or was he the scourge?
should the walls be torn down? or immediately renewed?
was this an act of good will? or just another purge?

from this perspective it was truly hard to say
what his intentions were and if his heart was true.
or maybe the wall had made me forget how to play?
i laughed and went down and pretended to know what to do

i think about the people in prison--how some of them find solace within cold metal bars and isolation.

one might say that they conditioned themselves to feel that way, or that it's not a façade and their happiness is genuine.

however, prison is still prison. every convict has their way of dealing with their sentence, and each one came from the same place the others did--outside. they grow up to be different, matured individuals while serving time, and they fulfill certain roles to maintain harmony.

those without life sentence are eventually set free, and they find the experience enlightening and fulfilling, or tasteless and dull. either way, being set free after years in cold cells makes for a feeling of bliss, as if a heavy burden has been lifted.

i long for that feeling of bliss. i long for this burden to be lifted. i've yet to find whether this experience is fulfilling, but i'm anxious to know what it's like to be free. i try to fulfill my roles, and inevitably i also mature. i know we all came from the same place, but i've yet to know how to properly deal with the experience. i'm conditioning myself to be happy, although it's becoming apparent that that's a façade.

all i feel is cold and isolation, and i cannot find my solace.

i stop to realize then: if this life is a sentence, then i dread to think of what i was charged with.