It seems to me that time is slipping;
Moving quickly and it’s already
Have I ever felt time the way I felt you.
Will I grasp the waste of the winding clock?
Will I consume it by train of thought?
Day in. Day out.
Queue the violins.
The only art I'm good at, is the art of being lonely.
I painted something at 3am in the morning and I don't want questions, only compliments.
the wrong one
will find you in peace
and end up leaving you in pieces
only the right one
can find you in pieces
and guide you to peace
"I guess we're all in varying degrees of 'not okay'."
every day I spend away from you
returns me back to normal
I belong to myself for once
if you're near
everything I've been practicing disappears
I'm yours again
just let me breathe on my own
and set me free
from your controlling grasp
and your unyielding touch
and let me be me
you ask me if i love you.
so i say
“i feel like i do.”
but sometimes my feelings lie to me
and i don’t want to do that to you.