I don't even know how to talk about this.

My mind's playing games with me,
I am the end of the game.
My mum wants to help,
she doesn't understand,
me and help don't get along with each other.

I don't even know why I'm talking about this.

It doesn't seem like I'm actually talking about something,
meanwhile I'm talking about everything.
Different inflection when I see myself,
shadows and stars sleeping in the same bed.

I don't know why I'm so difficult to understand.

She pulls me out of town with a bouquet of lilies
holding me tight, but soft, she talks about valleys of freedom.
She begs me to visit a country full of angel statues.
She's so confusing but sweet somehow.

The way she talks about revolution makes you want to burn bridges
and you know you would do it if She let your hand.
You would have fight bats and demons
but she just couldn't stop keeping you in touch.

She's talking and talking and talking,
you're not tired.
You're trying to compliment her through your laugh.
She doesn't let you speak.

Then she speaks out about how good you are,
how proud your children will be.
You can't help but dream of a life with her.
She looks in the sky and smile.

She stops in front of a river.
The water is so clean.
Birds are dancing above it
making love to your dreams.

Now it's the time to tell her how you love it when she sleeps,
how you're drowning for a kiss,
how you would do anything to make her yours to be.
She sees deep into your eyes.

She gets so quiet.
You're about to hug her
tell her you're not comfortable with her silence;
she left your hand.

Whispering, she tells you she's dying.
Her calm tone doesn't change a bit.
You, you realize that the sun burns.
She monologues that it was burning for so long.

I'm standing here looking for the joke.
She begs me to take care of her dog.
You're afraid to tell the little one, that mama's not coming home.

She demands only lilies in her grave,
white lilies of hope,
the opposite
of her black soul.

The river is so ***** and dull.
The storm that came within killed the nightingales,
destroyed nature's melodies,
rocks and branches like spears bloked the flow of the water
demanding for pure blood.

Wolves stand all around the river
crying their lives out,
the trees in the area scream and shout.
Someone could said they're enjoying the chaos.

The lilies fell from her tiny hands.
Silence.

I call myself for your attention
but do I need it seriously?
Do I need the taste of your lips
on my coffee cup?
Do I need your perfume running through my late night baths?

The you I want,
who is it?
Is it you who turned me into thousand of pieces?
Or is it just the aftertaste of a bad dream?

The you I want is not a you.
Is not a thing,
but maybe it is.
It doesn't exist in thoughts
it doesn't seem to has a face.

I drink my coffee in the mornings.
All I can see is a kid with no body, no structure.
All I see is myself.

Rocks in my apartment,
I don't clean.

You see, the fluffy pillows
host a party tonight,
seems like all my enemies
are invite.
There's blood in the floor, indeed.

Music captures the shaky windows,
curtains dancing in the backround,
tragedy hits the door
right from the shadows.

I don't want to be here.
Listening is painfull,
watching gets knives in my lungs,
the guests are laughing on me.
Anxiety says hi.

The house shouts "Welcome",
please,
I only need sadness for my art.

Remember my name,
you said,
and the way you left
a rock festival in my soft skin.

The once bright sky
now full of dust and cries,
burning stars
all over my bed sheets,
who are you anyway?

Keep me close,
you wish,
no one ever fool me
like this.

Ocean colours
in my eyes,
chasing something
that never was mine.

Oh please,
you're just another blurred wasted drink
in my fancy night.