I have many tiny corpses
Of memories, feelings - sorrowful losses,
All lie in my mind
My personal little garden for the dead,
For the best of them.
from where my personality stems
Grass and flowers grow into a meadow.
Only sometimes i know...
i notice tints or smells or sounds
Of people, places from my past,
A constant déjà vu, a search
For what? I still don't know.
There's a face that i borrow
And only when in my garden
I take it off, i'm hollow no more
I am nothing, a bunch of organs.
And it feels so peaceful.
When i'm nothing i feel more like myself.
Maybe i just need a break from people.
But then they force me out,
I'm alone in crowds, i wander around.
I can almost hear a train coming
I sit down, I'm waiting.
I'm in a field, where city's hand
Won't reach me, take me away, it can't.
Peace and quiet,
if no one minds, I'll stay here for a while.
I'm just so exhausted,
I wanna spend sometime in my graveyard, think about whether it had cost it...
No, if it was worth it.
******* and your money, i'm tired of your money.
We'll talk about it - not today.
Just..let me be
I want to ponder on the faded.