Melancholia 1 2 3 4 All of my sisters of disasters Some messier some not It's a calling it's a fall It's my insane heart down the floor Here are some prototypes Of better versions of me I could be less this I could be more that I am just bare and bruised I'm waiting for a hand 1 2 3 4 and so many more Some green monster with sharp teeth Wishing to be closer than unique for thee For someone To be special To be loved To be seen As ugly as pretty As wise as silly As devoted as selfish Oh God I cannot breathe I cannot tell More words to choke my truth
I don't want to say it
Every word that I write is so twisted Around my neck 1 2 3 4 and some of them they hate me more They shut me They hurt me They protect me in their own way It's a calling it's a fall It's a aching it's a wall It is loving and not at all
Cut me here cut me there Dissect my spirit
Holy and hellish Pure as dew on blueberries
Everything is dying How long will I drag this ghost everywhere behind me It should be dying All of this suffering All of these thirsty words All of these hopeless gazes All of these empty hands
And this dereliction Always reaching out for something An echo or a king Someone to burn the mess within Someone to dance in the blood with
Someone who can understand that there is nothing wrong with me
I am only full of emotions
I can walk on thorns with a smile on I am only devored by personas who all want to be lived And it's demanding And it's exhausting
I want to express everything I want to pour this all out I'm a river I'm a volcano Of passion Of tenderness Of frailty and strength
Some soul they feel Everything multiplied By all the people inside them thousand times much worse Thousand times much more beautiful It's heavy like a stormy sky You cannot hold my rain
you're no pain you cannot understand You're not in pain How could you understand
I am so alive Every feeling **** inside me Who could understand That the stars crash in my spirit And I hear too much I never rest I feel too much I hardly ever rest
Melancholia is made of the spark of youth And the wounds of knowing 1 2 3 4 You cannot choose only one I am every version of me I am not a nice book to read No one can read me till the end I am not a kitty to cuddle Sure these are things that I can be I keep saying I'll be home I keep saying I'll be safe I keep swaying in the dark For some peace of mind burning old and useless pieces of mine(...)