There are days
when I can still feel the agonizing ache
in its accelerated beats
as your image reveals itself
behind my lids,
when I think the threads
of those stitches I sewed
four years ago
(has it really been that long?)
haven't yet dissolved
and are keeping me closed,
and when I can feel your breath
against my cheek
and eventually my rhythm
keeping time with yours.
But these words are not
unfamiliar to the pages that I bleed onto
every time I briefly feel broken again.
So, this is a letter to the last person
who broke my heart:
Not you,
but myself.

To this day
I don't recognize the eyes that stare back at me
every morning when I rise to soft beams of light
that creep their way through the holes in my blinds
as I make my way down the hall
to look into the reflection in the bathroom mirror.
You see,
sometimes
when someone tears you apart repeatedly,
you just start to view them differently.
There are times
when all I want to do
is reach into that image
and clasp my hands so tightly around her throat
until her skin grows blue
but her fight grows red,
and if she would listen to me,
I would tell her to quit sprinting
from anything that makes her feel,
Because every time I hear her feet press the ground,
every time her leg muscles bulge in flight,
I can also hear a glass heart shattering
against her thoracic cavity,
but I still feel nothing.

Let me raise a glass to finding the solution.
Take a sip.
Swirl it in your mouth.
Feel its bitter taste against your tongue
until you unlock the door
to the invisible brick wall
in front of you.
Let someone else break your heart for a change.

Your eyes first locked with mine when I was blind.
Your eyes watched me drag along your brother’s torturous path.
Your eyes saw the pain in my own,
But those eyes became my protection,
Gazing into them, comfort,
Healing.
One night changed the world.

Your eyes saw to it that I rise.
Over,
And over,
And over again.
Your eyes strengthened me when I couldn’t do it alone.
And when I could… those eyes were still there.
Bright,
Smiling,
Happy eyes.
Because I succeeded.

Your eyes lit up when they looked into mine
As if three words were the greatest ever invented.
I got lost in those eyes.
They saw perfection in spite of countless flaws.
They grasped my soul, the very core of my being, and made my body shiver
In the best way possible.
I fell in love with those eyes.
Warm,
Caring,
Loving eyes,
Guarding my heart better than any.

But your eyes grew sad with sorrow, speaking the unexpected.
They cringed at my unbearable shock,
And they cried with mine.
Never will I be able to free myself of that image.
Sad,
Dark,
Depressing eyes.

Once rewarding, giving the finest promise I have ever been given, your eyes loved.
But they feared.
And I have been forced to learn of my greatest enemy.
Don’t make promises.
And don’t believe in them.
They will never be kept.

Your eyes have grown cold,
Leaving me speechless.
Dead,
Lonely,
Emotionless eyes.

Who are you?
I don’t recognize these eyes.

I used to live on Cloud Nine,
Where the cold, black darkness fades into white,
A place where love should never hurt,
And all troubles rest far out of sight.
I used to live in Truth,
Where the sweet bliss of love can never lie,
A place where the bearer of your heart
Forbids relapse and a love that can die.
But here I stand, knocked down
From my perfectly paved clouded retreat,
Betrayed by the boy who promised no pain,
And my heart is breaking in desperate defeat.

No longer am I living in full, but a living fool was made out of me.

Gentle kneading upon my bare back.
The subtle weight shift I feel
As gravity slowly lets your lips press against my shoulder.
The steady beating of my heart.
The pounding in my ears.

Your warm breath chilling my skin
In the best way.
My face buries itself in my hands.
Don’t do this.

But it doesn’t feel wrong.

Head lifting to feel us cheek to cheek.
Whispers in my ear.
You turn me over,
Forehead pressed to mine.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why are you letting me?”
A moment of clarity
That causes hours of confusion.

I give in.

Shadows dance across the walls.
Passion, affection, lust.
Love?
The smooth sensation of our skin colliding.
Heavy breathing.
My legs wrap around your waist as you lift me.
I missed these lips.
I missed these hands.
I missed these eyes.

I can still sense it.
It won’t leave me.

Bring on the darkness.
Let the shadows dance once more.

But all I feel is a heart in my chest.
Ba-doom, ba-doom, ba-doom…

She smiles if you wave.
She hugs you if you lead.
She converses if you please.
She listens if you need.
Her grades don’t stray from perfect.
Her lips don’t mean to deceive.
Her hips leave them lusting.
Her morals make them grieve.
I hate her for the way she looks.
I hate all that she sees.
The perfect shape, the perfect mind,
The perfect she won’t be.
The perfect way she scrutinizes
Her every living inch,
The perfect way she battles with
Each poke and **** and pinch.
The perfect way she blocks it out,
The perfect way she bleeds,
The perfect way she chills the swollen heart,
Not which she heeds.
The perfect way she fakes it,
The carelessness and breeze,
The perfect way she keeps alone
In all her growing ease.
I hate the way she stares at me.
I hate those eyes of tin.
I hate the way they lose their sight
When ***** starts to spin.
I hate the way she knows I feel
But let her judgments be.
I hate that **** reflection
When its searing straight through me.

One of these days
someone will be intriguing enough
to break these bricks,
turn off the electric fence,
cross the ocean,
and trek the desert
that surrounds the swollen bruise
in my chest,
but if it's time,
all I’d require
is a simple
knock on the door.

I lied when I said it.
A perfect façade of satisfaction.
The shelter: built.
A citadel, blocking it out,
Or, rather, a cage blocking it in.
It will not escape me,
Not yet, that is.
The truth.
Truth is I’m not.
Truth is nothing’s wrong,
But truth is nothing’s right.
Truth is no distraction survives long enough to make me forget.
(Though, that doesn’t halt my attempt.)
Truth is I’ve secluded a piece of me for no one to see,
Not even you.
Not yet, that is.
Truth is I can’t quite tell the truth,
For this requires me to tell myself.
Truth is I believe I still have strength to gain.
And truth is…
Maybe someday I’ll tell.
Not yet, that is.
Truth is I lied.
I lied when I told you
Everything’s okay.

I write for two reasons:
to make myself feel everything
to make myself feel nothing

Once in awhile, neither happens.
Once in awhile, both do.

I have nothing to say.
At least nothing I want to say to the world.
Sometimes, I just write, hoping I find a phrase worth speaking.
This would be one of those times.
Take me away from this moment
To a place I understand or gives comfort.
I’m sick of this living purgatory
Where everything here –
Every feeling,
Every heartbeat,
Every word,
Every desire –
Contradicts itself with something else.
Just take me far away from this city,
Away from the confusion,
Away from the past,
Away from the pain I used to feel,
Away from my heart,
And let me start at a new beginning
Where the finish line isn’t flooded with blackness or blur.
Bring me beyond the horizon,
And I’ll set on this place
To rise in a new world light years away.

I don’t want a delicate metaphor
wrapped in porcelain echoes
of rhythm or rhyme
to describe the way I feel when
I lay myself in bed at night,
and the drummer in my chest
beats loudly with love,
but the ice in my veins
manages to melt from my eye
into the cotton fur of a cat
who wraps herself ‘round my head
night after night
‘til
(sometimes)
I can
f  i  n  a  l  l  y
escape consciousness.
A **** cat -
This is where I ask you how pathetic am I,
how unwise to unwind,
how sad is it that this is where I feel safe at night,
how can one person burst with such fulfillment each day
and still hear the “ting” of empty tin inside.
Dear God, why?
Why why,
why why why why why can’t I unscrew the bolt
that began the paradigm
that refused to subside,
that just lay itself down where my frontal lobe lies,
guarding happiness from uncontrolled growth in my mind,
and this,
this is where I unveil what’s beneath,
where I stop the poetry
and just tell you what I need.


I need a friend.

I need a friend who understands the struggle of waking up every single day to the choice between fulfillment and failure, the struggle of using every breath as a reminder to be free, to be happy, to be loved, to love, to feel. And most of all, I need a friend who understands the struggle of succeeding in doing so.

Success is lonely.

As I’m kneeling in church, eyes fixated on the crucifix above me, I realize I already have that friend. Then I realize I need more than that.

So, I have one last question, God.
What kind of Christian does that make me?

There’s a whisper in the wind tonight,
a placid serenity I don’t encounter often.
Do you hear it?
Tell me of the shadows that fill your sunsets
with ebony-hued desires,
and burn me a fire down in your soul
to fill their empty spaces.
I can’t fathom a life without the laughter
that makes my sides ache from convulsion
until I have to,
And I don’t remember what it feels like
to have this every day.
There’s a thirst in my gut that never quite quenches itself,
but, good Lord, that doesn’t keep me
from filling it with anything that might.
Listen to the words that lie chained behind my tongue,
and submerge me in the freedom I feel
when I watch our star fall asleep on the horizon,
its dreams dancing above in purple and red gowns.
Leave your lines behind your lips,
and lie with me in silence,
a silence filled with the echoes of the rustling leaves in the trees
that hold secrets of eternity.
Then watch my reaction as a faceless ghost
hums seven songs in my ear:
Don’t go. Please stay. I love you.

I was there
When you first took in,
The very breath of life
But you didn’t know me.

I was there
As you grew,
But we never became friends.

I was there
When there was death,
But you stayed away.

I was there
When you had your heart shred,
But you didn’t know it.

I was there
When you fell in love
With the melody and its maker,
But you never saw me.

I was there
When you died completely
On the inside,
But you stayed cold.

I was there
When you tried to disappear,
But you hated me for not letting you.

I was there
When you loved
And when you came to life,
But you lost sight of me.

I was there
When you poisoned yourself,
But you didn’t care.

I was there
In the darkness,
But your eyes never caught my light.

I am here
Giving you every day,
Every moment.
But you’ve never seen me.

I’ve always been by your side,
And I will never leave it.
If I exist, that is.

I am here.
Where are you?

Things change.
People change.
Who you are today is not who you will be six months from now,
For better or for worse,
For love or for hate,
For growth or retreat,
For sin or for virtue.

But some things never change.

Dear Life,


For the longest time,
I’ve been complacent in this little nook I dug for myself,
a stagnant existence,
happy…
could be happier…
but happy,
and that’s what I wanted, right?
That’s what counts?
That’s what I worked towards for so long?

What’s that cliché?
If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it?
Yeah, don’t fix it.
Cover me in silence,
fill me up with good enough,
and settle if it’s so.
Who needs to strive for amazing?

You haven’t thrown me any curveballs in a while.
Maybe what I thought was healing
was just a piece of me that grew numb.
You’ve changed the plan mid-play.
Are you really trying to fail me?
Is it your goal to get into my every crevice
simply to pull out each emotion you can find
and witness what it does to me?
I’m not sure my bat is still strong enough;
it hasn’t been used in so long.
I could swing,
but I’d miss,
and I can’t handle missing any more.
I forgot what it felt like to have so much uncertainty
lodged under my fingertips,
to see one pitch after another too late
and not even realize it until a giant, blue welt
appears on my skin.
I’m terrified of your throws,
because something might shake up my world
and break me all over again.
I can’t,
I won’t
go back to that place.

Instincts scream to hide in the corner of the cage,
construct a shelter
in peace.

But,
dear Life,
my heart…
my heart tugs at my puppet strings
to grasp the bat in my hands,
walk up to the plate,
and find you face-to-face,
“because this time
maybe,
just maybe…
we’ll hear ourselves collide.”
In a barely-audible whisper,
it says,
“I think you’ve missed enough.”


Signed,
Scared & Confused

What is this place
that I can't seem to breathe,
like all natural reflexes in my body
undo themselves,
leaving me shivering?
It is fearsomely familiar.
Is my heart still pumping?
How am I still standing?
Have I met you before?
Can you see me?

When your heart explodes,
and your vessels burst,
and your brain caves in,
and your muscles itch,
when your lips overflow,
and your words under-praise,
and your neurons exhaust,
and your tolerance stops,
and you catch your breath
from your latest sprint,
a failed endeavor between you
and your mind,
you realize arrogance
in every complaint
proves an embarrassing case
of losing yourself.

when I sleep, I
hear sounds of crashing
and war
to the steady, beating

d*** beneath my breast.
oh, the fear

you instill and the
outrage I feel
undo me.

whispers in
ash-covered bullets of sweat scream
nonsense.
thinking is death.

free me.
reach out.
our moments are painfully slow.
make up your

mind,
e**ntangling me.

I can’t build walls.
And I don’t have a switch.
So let this be.
Let this be.

Feel everything,
Yet I’m feeling nothing.
Just let this be.
Let this be.

Don’t look.
Don’t speak.
Don’t hear.
Don’t think.
Don’t yearn.
Don’t crave.
Don’t care.
Don’t cry.

Listen to the sweet, scathing sound of silence.
And don’t remember.

Just lock it up.
And let it be.
Time won’t alter anything.

I don’t believe in fate, that any soul is predestined for another.
I don’t believe in coincidence, that we subsist by some sort of chance.
I don’t believe in soul mates,
And I don’t believe in luck.
I believe in faith.

Daring divinity screams my name, and I cannot let myself escape.
Some unknown force guides my thoughts, my actions, my emotions, my desires
–My everything.

No, I don’t believe in fate.
I believe in us.

There is a plan,
And I cannot explain.
I just let it be.

I cannot flip the switch to off,
For I’m incapable of closing myself away,
Of dancing with death and absence,
Of walking with lonely and numb.

I cannot flip the switch to off,
Lest I lose myself once more.
Happiness isn’t achieved this way,
But the lying whispers of false satisfaction.

“Off” will never solve; It will only prolong.

Let me feel,
Let me bleed,
Let me fall,
Let me break,
Let me crumble,
Let me rise,
Let me fight,
And let the cycle run.
At least I know I’m living.

“Off” is the risk you take.
But I dare you to change your ways.

The glass is not empty,
Nor is it full,
Nor is it half one way or the other.

But what is this feeling?
And where is the source of what strength she has left?
She has no inhibitions
And feels liberated for the first time in months,
Yet turmoil chains her down.
Vanished, but unbroken.
Ignoring, but noticing.
Crumbled, but fully put together.
She gave you her heart.
So, be careful,
For, though it is strong,
It is also fragile.

Her glass is not empty,
Nor is it full.
It is leaking,
And she spends all her time filling it,
But the crack isn’t mending,
Isn’t patching,
Isn’t healing.
So all she can do now is fill the glass,
Stop pretending,
Stop lying with her smile,
And watch it empty at the end of the day,
Allowing her to fill it yet again when dawn awakens.

I've come to learn
That when we gain strength,
We end up feeling weaker,
Because no longer are we leaning on the power of other people and things,
But we fight -
And we stand -
Completely alone.

The trick is whether this is good or bad.

Only darkness can show
silver collisions in the sky
that we like to think are specs.
Frosty foam greets the shore
with a smile and a hug.
I see nothing but the white,
but I know the waves
are soft enough to sustain me.
This thing called night can be eerie,
but I’m silently complacent.
Please don’t utter a word
so I can live in this.
Not even the sharp sand
beneath my feet
can distract the high
in which my mind
has taken refuge.
I close my eyes,
even though I don’t need to,
just to feel the wind dance
between my fingers,
under my arms,
and up my spine
until it pirouettes around my head
so many times
that the aroma of the ocean
takes me even higher.
There’s nothing I want more
than to have this more often than
once-in-a-blue-moon.
Earlier today
I carved my name in these grains,
through the damp, tired, diligent earth
that never ceases to trail behind.
I etched it ever-so-quickly,
ever-so-deeply,
with merit.
They washed me away.
They splashed my scars,
they showered my skin,
they dove into my vessels
until they could drag every piece of me
into the deep blue.
Yes,
they washed me away,
but they lifted my chains in doing so,
and here I stand in the darkness,
arms open wide,
face to the sky,
life in my chest.

This is what they call freedom.

And there's so much I want you to know that you don't believe in.
And there's so much I see that you need to see.
And I wish I could show you the brightness and talent that exudes from your being.
But I don't want to be written off with others who have said the same.
You are truly amazing and gifted.
Please believe in that;
Maybe I'm just scared to say it,
But that will never remove its truth.

Did you ever wonder
why you never saw me when the stars were lit,
or when black framed the crescent of an ivory echo,
and nocturnal critters sang to the sky?

Did you ever wonder
if the sparkle in my eye was actually the diamond
I secretly kept to fool those with light
that could reflect from their smile?

Did you ever wonder
why the laugh in my throat reverberated
with fallacy and fear and coercion and confusion
until my mind believed it true?

Did you ever notice
that I wasn’t really around until six months ago or so?
Do you know why?
Do you even notice it
here and there still?

Replace-ability and invisibility:
the top two qualities of an introvert.

Did you know
that I was dead,
and there’s piece I couldn’t revive,
and that piece can eat me alive,
but my power won’t let it?
Did you know
it crawls under my skin,
and the itch can be too much,
so I scratch until I bleed,
and I spill out all of me?

Sometimes,
we’re not “just tired.”
Sometimes,
socialization equals solitude.

So,
we drive home to the beat
of a soft, piano-covered ballad
on repeat
and repeat
and repeat
and repeat,
just to let the musing sink in,
until a single, meaningless, unprovoked tear
comforts our cheek
in a cozy, embracing blanket.
And when we reach home’s quiet hello,
the only solution
is to bathe in the silence,
let its aroma fill each crevice,
let it inject into our veins,
let us breathe its sweet clarity
until the world turns right-side-up.

Only then
have we filled again.
Only then
can you hear us.

I sit often in my bed,
wishing for inspiration to melt its way from my heart
into my fingertips
which click against the keys on this machine
to form words that get jumbled in my brain,
that I may untangle their knots
and loosen their grip
just enough that the ache in my forehead subsides,
and the weight on my chest is lifted even a little.
Most of the time,
whatever reactions are supposed to happen in me,
whatever connections are supposed to form
don’t,
and I continue to ache until the numbness sets in.

I handle emotions alone.
I don’t seek attention.
I don’t want the weakness.
I don’t reach out,
because I got sick of the sting
of each slap that shouldn’t have surprised me.
I love being alone;
In fact, I crave it,
but I miss the social sense of belonging that used to balance me out.
I want to grasp a hand that is stretched out to me
for a change,
but the air is always empty.

Even as I type this
I am running out of words that explicate
the cause of the dyspnea that overwhelms me
at abrupt, random moments,
and my ability to form lucid, complete thoughts
is lost.

How do you wipe a wound that isn’t even bleeding?
How do you heal a bone that isn’t even broken?
How to you fix a muscle that isn’t even torn?

I am not fragmented.
I am not cracked.
I am not damaged,
yet something in me is still leaking,
seeking something more.

I am not standing in the darkness;
I am just waiting for this sun to shed light
on a soul that knows
when to reach out
and when to let me be.

I should be tired,
but all I feel
is every piano strike
as it reverberates through my ears
and dances its way into my chest
so all I can sense is the stillness in the night.
If I wasn’t driving,
my eyes would be closed
in an effort to soak in every drop of peace
before the austerity of daylight
squeezes me dry.
Tonight I wasn’t good enough for anyone.

I can’t remember a time in my life
that I have spent this night alone,
but it seems only fitting that I start the next chapter
among the best friends I’ve come to know:
music, memories, and myself.
If only there wasn’t a war
between my desire for solitude
and ache to feel loved,
I could have enjoyed the evening’s involuntary isolation a bit more.

All I ask now
is that in this moment,
one of these notes could take me on a ride
to the nearest slice of complacency
beyond this bed of uncertainty
and fill me up with a sound of belonging
that will sing me to sleep
when my head greets the pillow,
then wipe away the invisible tears
that never fell from my soon-weary eyes.

The sweet scent of his skin,
And the soft hum of his breath,
And the quick pounding I feel
With my ear upon his chest,
And the way those eyes
See far into mine,
Where I used to hide behind falsehoods.

Hold on to your hearts for dear life,
My friends,
When that life is a bumpy ride.

When gathered around a television
among close friends and random strangers,
dressed to the nines with champagne in hand,
the clock strikes midnight,
and the silver ball drops,
person after person locks lips with their love,
so I choose my victim wisely
and have not one regret.*

I left my lips on my champagne glass.

I can’t promise you it will get better soon.
I can’t promise you happiness.
I can’t promise it will all go away.
I can’t promise it will end.
I can’t promise you no pain.
And I can’t promise I’ll always understand.
But I can promise you that
No matter what kind of solid ***** of an exterior you carry,
I see multitudes of greatness beyond that.
I can promise you that you are worth so much more
Than the way you treat yourself.
And I can promise you that you are never,
Ever,
Alone.

You create your own happiness.
I can’t do it for you.

I understand nothing
But ask nothing.
With so many words behind these lips,
I never allow them to part.
I remain silent.
But for how long can I keep this up?
And for how long can you?
Or is this just an imagination crossed with paranoia
At its best?
...or, rather, worst?
Tell me, provoke me, show me, push me, press me, look at me.
Speak.
Because words get lost in my throat,
And I don't find them until it's too late.

As you pull me close,
Carefully tighten your embrace,
Softly kiss my forehead,
And tell me I’m okay,
Tears fill my eyes,
For all I can think is
“Why is this the only place I feel safe?”

It isn’t mine.

Hold my binding,
run fingers through my pages.
Title-less,
author-less,
I'm blank and ominous,
Empty
only because
my ink is invisible.

As I walk, I tread the sand beneath my feet,
I search the ground for shells of beauty,
And the soft sunset guides my soul
Like a single light in the darkness,
A dove spreading its wings
To the music of the water.
In this moment I feel alive,
And I’m getting ready to jump,
To dive in, to reach beyond my body
And fly the depths of the earth,
Independently.
And in this moment, I know I can,
But I realize I don’t want to.
If I need to soar above the ocean,
I’m quite capable,
But it doesn’t matter to me ultimately.
What good are these wings?
What good is total freedom
When you’re flying from your deepest cares?

It's yet another day
for yet another year
to ban another tear
from the contours of my cheek,
And yet another fray
from yet another war
for the dagger through my core,
just wanting to be bleak.

And every day
I make myself happy.
And everyday
I swallow the weak.

Today is no different.
Here's to pressing on,
round three.

I tried to find
the perfect words,
most poetic line,
or graceful prose
to encompass
the passion that builds me,
but in this moment
every lyric
makes the world
a solitary
cliché.

You make my insides tumble within me.
You make that lump lodge into my throat
so I can barely speak or breathe.
You make my brain turn to
a puddle of melted ice,
waiting to be vaporized into thin air.
You make my eyes go cloudy
so that I am nearly blind.
You make this cool interior implode.
You make my sanity run a marathon
so fast I'll never catch up.
You make me crazy.
And I can't decide if this is good or bad.

There's a reason I've built my walls so high.
Are you trying to break them down,
Or are you trying to break me down?

Bag my head,
and cut only a slit for my lungs to breathe.
Maybe purposely blinding myself
will ****** the sights that remind me.

There were days
when the ice in her pupils
would burn their victim
to a mess of frostbitten limbs
among flurries of captivity
and twirling, black masks
of hatred and woe.
There were days
when her throat seemed forever blocked
by the boulder heart that arose
to choke the breath that she wished,
when she woke each morning,
would shallow itself
until frozen in time.
There were days
when the humdrum drone
of life surrounding her,
dialogues of laughter
and dances of camaraderie,
only tipped her sideways
until emptiness set itself
deep within the chaos she harbored beneath
camouflaged skin
that was cold to touch.

Take us on a journey
through the rocky rivers that will lead us
to the mind that awakened one day,
melting those eyes
into tributaries of courage.
The aroma of rain is on the horizon.
Let it wash us away into the ocean
that splashes against the beach
where her feet tread sand,
where a breeze greets
the palm trees in the distance
and finds its way through each strand of her hair
while her eyes close in remembrance of the moment.
Freedom is just past the vantage point.
Watch as she delicately forms fists in preparation
for its fight,
and hope unburies its sanctuary inside her lungs.
The bitter taste on her twisted tongue
will soon be swallowed
in sovereignty.

With dignity and grace,
I walk along.

With dignity and grace,
I walk alone.

A mistake worth making?
I may never know.

A mistake worth feeling?
I may never show.

The sick, sweet pit
at the bottom of my stomach -
that makes me nauseous
when my throat drops down
so I can barely speak,
no audible whisper,
the one that nudges
every desire within
to call you and spill
everything I'm made of,
every word withheld,
every story untold,
because I miss the sound
of your presence in my life -
always comes
when I'm too tired to feel.

Some days
I lose myself
so deeply in my thoughts
that I find the person
I was meant to be,
instead of the person
I wanted to be,
and in those moments
I realize
I don’t have to try anymore,
that I already am,
that everything I ever wanted
is everything that would have killed me,
and a new world
suddenly fell into my lap,
even though it had been there all along,
and in that world,
I am already my best,
I am enough,
I am free,
I am appreciated,
and every piece of life
I have ever lived
has brought me to this moment,
a moment where I can just be

and continue to be.

I've built up walls
And created a switch.
So let this be.
Let this be.

Feel everything,
Yet I'm feeling nothing.
Just let this be.
Let this be.

Can't look.
Can't speak.
Can’t hear.
Can’t think.
Can’t yearn.
Can’t crave.
Can’t care.
Can’t cry.

Listen to the beautiful betrayal of lies.
And don't remember.

Just lock it up.
And let it be.
Seems time has altered everything.

I didn’t believe in fate, that any soul is predestined for another.
I didn't believe in coincidence, that we subsist by some sort of chance.
I didn’t believe in soul mates,
And I didn’t believe in luck.
I believed in faith.

And now I simply search for some escape,
Some feeling other than
comfortably numb.

Maybe I really did deserve this.
Maybe I really am just stupid.
Because I believed in your promises.
Because I believed in us.

I don't know the plan.
I don't know my meaning.
I don't even know if I have a purpose.
But I don't care.
Just let it be.

I've learned to flip the switch to off.
What does it matter if I lose myself?
***** happiness;
Give me the lying whispers of false satisfaction.

"Off" may never solve, but it numbs away the pain.

I want to feel,
I want to bleed,
I want to fall,
I want to break,
I want to crumble,
I want to rise,
I want to fight,
And I want the cycle to run.
So at least I'd know I’m living.

But "off" is the risk I take.
Because I've tried to change my ways.

*Your heart belongs to you
And you alone.
Never be careless and naive enough to give it away.