Looking out my bedroom window,
I can only see the happy souls,
and the path I bear is the feared,
since 20 and only in second gear,

I just wish for the butterflies,
I can only see in the twilight,
caught between there and here,
the flowing of and then dried up tears,

I don't cry any-more.

There once was insight that did delight,
but you lose the sight and then the light,
all that is left are the little bread-crumbs,
to witches house to be burnt alive.

And forever-more,

Misery has its stakes in a broken heart,
fiery sweet eyes make you sleep past mid-day
you look at the veins of your wrists and wish to sl........
black-ness of cloud formations, as you look for a way.