The heart is not a revolving door.
Sooner or later, it changes the locks.
whether unintentionally or not.
T h e y
a c t
h a v e
c h o i c e
I am jealous,
of the girl,
I used to be.
In the end of it all I never try to search for answers to the riddle anymore,
and the same songs will always find a way to play,
How do they manage it?
I'm weak and already sleeping in the ground.
A.D.H.T isn't special anymore and neither is Vitiligo,
just like diabetes isn't anymore and neither is cancer or tumors
or depression or anxiety
We're just here not appreciating each other like everybody else.
Every thought is a chemical imbalance in the brain
and everybody's insane.
They say you don't know what you have until it's gone
And yet I miss him dearly
I'm crazy in love but too afraid to show it
I want to wrap myself around you
until I'm pulled away
until you call me insane
Am I too much?
Am I enough?
What will it be like
To kiss you?
Will it be
Your soft lips
Pressed against mine
Our eyes closed
Savouring the moment
Arms wrapped around each other
The epitome of perfection.
Or will it be
Hot and passionate
My back against the wall
Our bodies pressed tightly against each other
Your tongue in my mouth,
And mine, in yours
As my hand gets entangled in your hair
And yours, stroking my skin.
Will I experience an eruption of
Will it leave me wanting more?
There's only one way to know.
I hereby apologise if I have shocked or disgusted you with a semi-accurate representation of the thoughts coming from a (not hormonal, I swear) 13-year-old's mind. A little too inappropriate, perhaps.
Maybe someday you'll be lonely and understand how to be a friend.
Maybe you'll give me a call.
Maybe I'll pick up or maybe I'll have a new friend.
I don't want to write about you anymore
and maybe I'll stop.
It's not a question of what happens on my side but a question of what happens on yours.
I'm too high and you're too low.
I miss the way we balanced each other out.
You hurt me
I hurt myself
I drag the blade
across my wrist
in hope one day