I should have known.
I should have known that
Happiness is a gift,
A genetic mutation,if you ask me,
That I'd never know
How that feels like
Just like what music is
To a deaf person.
Tricked by my own mind,
My heart fell into the trap
That I set myself,
Let myself believe
That everything's alright.
Nothing is alright.
Nothing is fine at all.
Its all falling apart
And I've been refusing
To see the ruins
In order to spare myself some pain.
If only I knew,
If only I realized that
Everything looks more joyous
When you look at them
With your eyes closed.

If you've ever had dreams,
Don't ever underestimate them.
Because dreams are
Just a step away from reality.
And reality is a mere metaphor.
What's real is not real and
What's not real is also not real.
There is no line or border
That his grains of sand cannot cross.
I heard the cartoon dinosaur on the ceiling gossip
That I was going crazy.
But the crumbs of the chocolate croissant I ate in my dreams
Are the proof of my sanity.
I sometimes wish I could have nightmares instead
Because at least in nightmares,
I would still be able to be scared.

Is it the sun that I'm seeing?
Or is it just the flickering light bulb hanging from my ceiling?
For some, this is the beginning of the day
For some, this is the end.
For me, all I can hear is the ticking sound of the second hand.
Seconds feel like hours and hours, seconds.
I hear the rain drizzling along the window, composing melodies as it goes.
Except that there's only the leaky sink and empty walls.
They dance around the corner of my eyes, pretending that they're not shadows.
But I am no fool.
The floor, it's velvet.
Its soft hands embrace my soul everytime I take a step.
I smile as I look back and see my ****** footprints.
He says it's time for bed.
But I don't ever really sleep, do I?
Not in this house.
For my eyes have already found refuge in the walls.

I never understood the idea of masochism.
Not until you came into my life.
I was young when we met.
Now I'm older and wiser and yet, you never really age, it seems.
You're still mischievous and playful as always.
Still playing peek-a-boo with me like a little child.
Some people say you're not a good friend for me.
Some say you're not real.
But I, as your best friend, know that you're very real.
No matter what they say about you, you know that I can never hate you.
No mattter how much you hurt me.
No, I take it back.
You never hurt me.
It's always me who does the beating.
And you, you're just there, watching me.
We're not just friends, or brothers.
We are one.
Although I cannot see you, you're always in my heart.
Your arms wrapping around every part of my body
Like vines on a tree
Hugging me so tightly.
So tightly that I can barely breathe.
And I get scared sometimes.
Especially when you jump out of the darkness to scare me.
But I love you.
And I know you will never leave me.
And I don't think I'd ever be able to leave you.

I had a dream.
I was scratching my eyes out.
I was breaking my arms.
I was cutting my ears off.
I was hurting.
But I remember being happy.
I can still feel the pain buried in my psyche.
But the joy no more.
Now that I'm awake,
I have to see the fingers you're pointing at me.
Now that I'm not asleep,
I have to punch at the walls again.
Now that I'm not dreaming,
I have to hear the words you say.
Now that I'm alive,
I have to carve myself up again.
If anyone asks me,
I'd rather be trapped in that mutilating nightmare for eternity
Than spend another night with you.

Love is a strange thing.
It makes you do stupid things; unspeakable things.
Worst of all, it gives you hope.
Or more accurately, false hope.
For nineteen years, I sat alone in my room, thinking I was loved.
Maybe what caused the delusion is my success; all the trophies I achieved, all the certificates I received.
But definitely not the diseases.
Definitely not the flaws.
Have you ever sat down and thought what was going on in my mind?
Sure, you'd say you knew everything what's going in my head but do you really?
Do you know how many times I've stabbed myself in the throat in my mind?
Do you know how many times I've tied a noose around my neck?
Do you know how many times I've strangled each and every one of you to death?
No, I don't want to **** you.
I don't want to hate you.
I just want to be loved. I just want to be loved for who I am.
I just want to feel at home at home.
I just want to feel safe.
Being at home is like walking through a haunted mansion with trap doors.
You don't know when you'll trigger a trap that'll shoot tiny darts right into your heart.
As a child, I always wanted to be a superhero; I'd pretend that my life is an origin story of a superhero.
But as it turns out, it's the story of how a hopeful boy turned into a madman who tried to burn the world down.
Yes, I'm a freak, I know that pretty **** well and I don't need you to remind me that.
Do you know how hard it is to just walk straight in public thinking everyone is staring at you?
I just want a sanctuary where I dont have to worry about what people might think of me.
If home is really where the heart is,
Then I dont really have a home.

I am standing at the door.
I am staring at the door.
I don't know what's on the other side of the door.
And I don't want to know.
But I want to open the door.
But I can't.
I look behind me and see my life.
I see my life that's calling at me.
I see failure and I see joy.
Both of them make me want to turn the ****.
I reach out to the door and I stop.
My body is paralyzed, my mind gone.
My mind is gone.
Where is my mind?
Somebody help me find my mind.
My body is paralyzed.
My eyes are fixed at the door.
I am too scared to turn the ****.
For some reasons, the door opens itself.
I gaze right through it.
I see nothing but I see everything.
There is nothing but there is everything.
Its pitch black darkness shine so bright that it blinds me.
I look back again and its raining.
On the other side, it snows.
I love snow and I hate rain.
But don't I hate snow and don't I love rain?
What do I like? What do I not?
The door is open, I take a step forward.
Fear overwhelms my body and I take a step back.
John screams from the distance, Don't go.
I don't want to,John but I do.
I face the door again and feel a breeze.
It brushes my face and soothes my soul.
But somehow the pleasure turns into pain.
I'm too scared to go in, I'm too scared to turn back.
The ground beneath me starts shaking.
The mirrors in the room shatter.
And the shards fly right towards me.
Each of them singing my favourite song.
Do they hit me, do they cut me?
I don't know.
But I am standing at the door.
I am staring at the door.
And the door is staring right back at me.