"A ****** degenerate",
thats what I am.
Mock me all you want,
but i don't care.
Life is a hellhole;
its to early to give up,
but everything is ****** away,
from modern day intelligence.

Those lines that are carved on to your forehead,
those creases that gently cover your faces,
i'd mock you, too,
but i'm too corrupted inside,
i can't bear to let out another breath.

A degenerate
you call me with the utmost satisfaction,
but lose it all.
the trying and the giving,
because all you get, is losing.

A Degenerate. Thats what I am.
A loser. A ****.
And so are you.

I crave,
for the day when I’m free to do as I wish,
(As Such Things Exist).

I crave,
for the day when thinking is not considered a sin,
(As Such Things Exist).

I crave,
for the day when I’ll have faith in humanity,
(As Such Things Exist).

I crave,
for the day when human’s souls,
will be wide as the skies,
where stars shimmer,
in the galaxy where we wish to be.
(As Such Things Exist).

I crave,
for the day,
when we no longer have to fight,
for things to be equal,
for things to be free,
for things to be right,
from the small window
we could only see from.
(As Such Things Exist).

I crave,
I crave,
for the day,
when you see me in my eye,
and reach out for me,
like a fragile bird,
still learning to fly.
(As Such Things Exist).

A fragile life,
So easily gone.


Dark nights,
when one sees none.


Gone, so quickly,
God, spare her some time.


Its mind, faltering
to accept its own destiny.


If dreaming is free,
why, oh why,
do lives cost so much more.

In summer mornings, I will open a small cafe.
Windows with lace curtains, open with breeze,
the ice, melting against the tall glass,
clinking on its own.
i'll tend as they be,
slowly and carefully before they're gone.

By lunch, when the sun is at its highest in the glaring sky,
i'll close the cafe and open a small booth,
which changes day by day.
I might be selling lemonade one day,
and the next day candies.
i'll sell them to young children ,
pure and unknown to the rest of the world,
but i'll make sure to remind them of their manners.

When the sun falls into the vast ocean ,
i'll bring out my words,
old and new, new and old,
and i'll give them to the young girls,
with sparkling eyes and flowers in their hair,
and i'll tell them to keep the sparkles,
because once its gone,
it can't be grasped once more.