it's like I have to die,
for you to notice me,
and it hurts because,
all you have to do,
is cry a little,
and I would be by your side.

(e.k.j.)

we all do it;

when we're in pain,
we listen to that song,
that makes our hearts mend.

when we're broken,
we cry,
until there is no more tears.

when we have no other way to express ourselves,
we put a razor blade to a skin,
and pray it will go a little deeper than planned.

when we wanna feel the beautiful numbness,
we stab needles,
with love potion,
into our veins,
waiting to feel no more pain.

and when we're heartbroken,
we smoke a lot of menthol cigarettes,
because she only smoked Marlboro.

(e.k.j.)

What if your soulmate was living on the other side of the world?
Singing songs in little venues
About girls nobody else knows.

What if your soulmate was sitting in a coffee shop 30,000 miles away?
Writing words into that old journal
About guys she's too shy to talk to.

What if your soulmate walked right by you, in a sea of people on a busy street?
Running for a bus to take to his mothers
Eyes never meeting.

But what if your soulmate met you.
And talked with you.
For seemingly endless hours.
But only for two days.

What if your soulmate had to stay in her boring town life.
What if your soulmate had yet another flight to catch.

What then?
What if soulmates exist?

I don't want us to have any what if's?

So stand a little closer to me.
And kiss me how you would if you knew this was the beginning of forever.

I've never had somebody want me so bad that they'd spend money to get a flight to see me....

så kig på mig.
se min fejl.
se hvad der sker når du ikke er her.
jeg dør indeni.
kom tilbage.

man glemmer aldrig den som knuser ens hjerte.
slet ikke når det var dig der knuste hendes,
for at hele dit eget.
*** sniger sig ind og sætter sig på din hjerne,
på hele dit nervesystem,
så hver gang du hører de sange,
*** sendte til dig klokken 2 om natten og skrev at *** savnede dig,
så meget det gjorde ondt,
kramper du sammen af smerte,
mens varme tårer,
der slet ikke burde eksistere for piger som hende,
løber ned af dine kinder.
du prøver på at stoppe den knytnæve,
af hårde ord og levende eksistenser,
der banker ind i dit hjerte mens den skriger af dig,
at det at leve dit eget liv og tænke selvstændigt,
uden hende,
er fuldstændigt utænkeligt,
også selvom piger som hende,
er kolde som sten,
og har metalhjerter,
med skarpe kanter.
men tænk tilbage på den tid.
vi var ægte,
vi skete.