The train
****** to wait for me as i count my steps
Going away
And returning
It always passes
Waiting for me to suddenly be stuck to the railroad
Waiting for me to never hear it
I think the train follows me but that's foolish
So i stay cradled in my words, veiled by the moon and my alternating fictitious emotions,
Wanting to be young forever
For being stuck in this timeline just makes everything beautiful.
My ****** youth makes bliss out of misery and condemns my joy for it to be kept for moments like these,
Retrospective of my self, time and the right way to be,
Startled by my conflicting sentiments,
Young anger of the frustrated, power hungry and discontent,
But grateful, for what I've lived and seen.
This is no note or ode to death,
Just a gentle message that i am well
And that I've been and felt plenty
So if thy mark of the end would think I'm ready,
I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't beg to stay in the remnants of me.
But if there's more to breathe than what I've had then, I'll inhale happily.
For the train to or not to hit me,
I'll have to keep waiting,
I promise i am not glamorizing, pain or anger or even lucidity
I am simply accepting comfort, commodity, a vile of short bliss before morning comes in emptyly.
I won't plaster this on the eyes of people to see but rather keep it, treasured antique of my immobility while I for once enjoy living, morbidly, but truly.

I wanna live my young years
Screaming at people across the terminals,
Waking up in train stations
Loving to live among others.
I wanna live in the romanticism of the teenage years.
I wanna get wasted with strangers
And sing on the boulevards.
What the **** kind of good girl am I?
What the **** kind of intimidating hypocrite am I?
What the ****?
Time is passing by me while I watch it from my top bunk
From my bathtub
From my phone camera.
Only if I could say I ate my years like the other kids,
"I smoked my years away" or "drugs ate at my sanity"
No.
It's just the glamour veil.
I watched my years
I didn't eat or smoke them.
I stood by and watched them fly and now I feel old.

I search for wisdom in others
So I can relax
Lay back and not do anything.
I don't need to be wise
My skepticism wouldn't have to tire me.
It's so easy to lean on someone
Be it their body or mind
Their actions or opinions
It's way more comfortable.
Because forming a singular personal identity
Is seemingly impossible.
What is me?
What sets me apart from my ego, whatever I project outwards to the people?
So why be me when there's someone else I can form onto.
Parasitical existence by all means inclusive,
Online, offline, flatline.
I can be you when I can't be me.
I can be you when I am tired
I can be you when I'm lying
I can be you when I don't like me.
Because my persona is picture perfect I can exude my flaws onto someone and my aspirations on someone else.
So I end up being a split formation of self.
The 27th part of me you can find on said website.
Cuz the media is eating me out while my family watches.
What are my ******* core values.
How can I be me when I don't know how I'm living?
So I form me into something else,
Permanency hurts so I morph.
Silently.

Well thought out impulsive decisions,
Not wise but planned.
Still impulsive just measured.
My being.
That's all my life has ever been
And the moment I think I know the world.
It turns back and spits on me.
you thought...

Love interests
Late night writing
So careless
Just filling in.
____
How am I to make out
The difference
Between what I haunt
And what's part of my cohérence.
_____
Am i meant to catch
What I want to hold, love and cherish
And call the fight of three
A death match.
______
Meant to be human
And gain the common sense
Because that is human acceptance,
Except that is not the field I wanna bloom in
______
Boomin
Through time and space
Young and fullfillin
******* in lace.
______
Just another radio blur in blue
An exchanged frozen breath.
I've no clue
How exactly have we met?
______
I'd ask me too
Just not in the mood.
_______
I'd propose the question
Just don't have that kind of patience.

I'm not afraid of death
She's scared of me
And people like me who embrace her ever so senselessly.
I'm not afraid of death.
Since we created the concept.
Imbued the notion of a tragic end with a lachrymal consequence.
The idea of death was built with fear written on headstones and synagogues.
Achieved through the exposition of conflicts and wars.
How am I to know that death isn't peaceful?
Painless or not, I am not afraid of death.
For its vague appearance brings itself closer to what makes us human.
For its vigil and oneirical existence is simple and over judged.
I am not afraid of death.
Death is afraid of the people who have yet to see her.

Anticipation and all its fulfillment
Expectations and their dissapointment.
Laying in the bathtub on my birthday.
Like a fool.
And laughing sincerely
Scared of further living
Letting someone else love for me.
Because dreams are too vivid.
I don't like you I just need your warmth.
For now and probably for a month.
And it's so enchanting
How I'm so careless but so scared
So reckless but so restrained.
Too young to be able to understand.
How it all functions,
Young and flirtatious.
Keeping the rest to myself because anything else is a negation.
Broken promises and broken bones,
On loud nights when I drink nonalchoolic champagne.
Heat raves and the sky falls,
I'm 16 and alive.
How did I make it?
Young and clueless,
Life's a movie and I'm awfully egotistical.
Undoubtedly hypocritical.
Speaking to all the clouds and ignoring the voices around.
Baby, I tell them,  "ill never fall back into love"
I'm an idiot plus the stars said love's just a social construct.
An experiment.
So i stood there in the dark,  no water in the bathtub just me, listening to chuckles in my room celebrating my birthday.

She says I sound like the flavour she smokes every now and then.
Velvet hookah smoke.
She's afraid, she's not.
I guess I am pretty frightening.
She says you're too real for me.
So different from what I imagined you to be.
She says my life's going too well for me to be negative.
And I laugh.
It's 4:39 and I want nobody.
Not a soul, not à hand to touch me.
People are tiring.
With their words and repetitive situations,
I seldom rather silence so I don't become a répétition of myself.
I take her outside and hand her a slim lighting it up blindly.
She smokes and stops talking.
"give me one"  so I take the cigarette and take it to my chest and out my nose.
Such a surprised grimace "you know how to inhale nicotine huh?"
I take one more and tell her I now understand why people smoke ever so desperately.
The placebo vice of normativity.
Smoking is like meeting people.
Seemingly good, foolish and totally unhealthy.
I'm tired of this patterned living.
She says how can your mind go to so many places?
Said that she could drown in my thoughts and I'd still find the simplicity of others fascinating.
Which I am not denying.
My mind's à pretty big ballroom.
With lacquered black floors perfectly made to reflect sound.
And she says she's scared.
Scared that I'm too complex,
Scared because I belong in too many places.
I tell her she's just confused and restless.
I tell her she should think of me less and let the nicotine in her body rest.
And I do confess.
That whole night was meaningless.

eating the inside of my lip
and uncovering my back in the moonlight.
I walk the streets nonchalantly.
No hearing.
Just sight.
And taste, the taste of the inside of my lip bleeding.
I was raised to be just and to keep my eyes on the sole thing that interests me.
Meaning everything.
So it's all I do.
I sit and stare unwillingly.
Keeping track of the eyes that read me and the ones that are just passing by.
Considering.
I'm built around the social construct of being lonely.
But not really.
I'm losing the fancy words I used to fight for just like I'm losing myself.
As I leave more me on my bed than anywhere else.
I shaved today to feel a hint of self interest.
It was completely useless.
I couldn't give a **** about myself with hair or without but that's just too much to confess.
I've been trying to sing more and dance and give into the so called creativity I harness.
It's all a lie.
It's all a distraction.
It's something I want to call motivation but can't.
Am i meant to rot in the lifestyle of a movie miserable human?
Walking the streets and spazzing on my bed.
With my dreams swept out of my head.
I look in three separate mirrors everyday.
Who am I and why am I not dead?
And that's the million dollar question.
Because somehow the moment everything collapses we turn to the forbidden.
But either way I digress I'd be too afraid to do it to myself.
I've found billion other methods that make me feel that they match the situation.
**** this poem.
It's another excuse for my insomnia.
Another excuse to justify why I woke up at 11 just to fall onto another bed.
All the memories I've collected, play me such a theatre show,
And I watch wondering if they're the dream from last night or real life.
And it makes me question again.
Who am I and why am I not dead?
Not because I wanna die necessarily but because at times I'm rather lucky.
Like the universe repays me.
Like the universe cried a single tear of mercy and out of all the people it rained on me.
And it still seems like I'm ungrateful.
The universe is mistaking my head for someone else who maybe instead would know how to use that luck efficiently.
I am no such mastermind.
I've lost my book based intelligence when I was 11 and gained my eyes when I was 13.
Ironically.
So who am I and why am I not dead?
Living a paradox withing irony itself,
I'm handmade by multiple clichés.
Or that's what I think.
My dreams seemed nice until people tell me they're just a fantasy.
Oh but look at me, 16 and complaining about dreams.
I'd end up a great housekeeper I'd tell myself though nothing stays clean.
I feel old.
Old in a way I've never felt.
Like by the time I'd reach 30 I'd already be dead.
Or maybe again,
Is it all on my head?
Adolescent scent in the times of complete desolation.
I stand and I don't understand.
Who am I and why am I not dead?

Cold walls.
I don't have much to do.
Just keeping my teeth clean and the sky blue.
I should give up on these calls.
Stay in the words leave the music.
Too much aspiration for someone who's fading.
Just keep on hoping.
Going head first won't ever hurt my physique.
But it'd scar my breathing.
Escalating and dropping.
Colliding into the form of my eyelashes falling.
But i ain't got much to do.
Just keep on looking pretty and never stop defying.
After all defiance makes them all feel guilty.
Ain't it?
Look at the crumbs of the older generation leaving behind suicide notes and hair fallen in the drain painting the baths green.
I ain't got much to do but live with the curious ideas and hopes that'd I'd see people again... Useless.
Just like me... The embodiment of summer rain. Nourishing for its moments of life but draining and drying the land once the sun's back up.
Summer rain.
I ain't got much to do really.
Just follow the course with no objections or passion.
Staticly making my way through life.
I'm too young to be thinking these things.
I should be there expressing what I fight for and laughing in the crowds.
I'm too young to be this.
I've given myself more years than I should've.
But I ain't got much to do left.
Just keeping myself alive.

Skin
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Too many flashing lights.
Epilepsy.
Too much skin.
Carnal wishes without discretion.
Killing me.
Too much skin around me.
Too much skin for me too see.
Smoothly.
Lights pulsating under the layers.
I want to feel skin other than mine.
I've gotten tired of wasting time.
Coliding and condoning myself for not looking better.
For not making other layers of skin want mine the way I want them.
No-one particularly.
Tonight I just want to feel loved and I just ain't enough.
Skin.
Kilometers that my fingers want to run over.
Skin stretching over structured bones, taking the hues of the blood passing through.
How does it feel you fool?
To have someone love you thoroughly?
From your veins to nose cartilages ?
How does it feel tell me?
Incoherently I'm thinking if I can find love in my own skin.
Too used to it so negative.
Tell me how does it feel?
To have skin touch yours that is not evil?
How does it feel to not hate the skin you're touching?
How does it feel to love feeling?
Skin.
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Epilepsy.
How would  one's skin ever survive loving me?

loveless songs fix my teeth,
and make up my mind.
it's late and I can't stop coughing,
threw on my drapes so the light hides behind.
loveless songs they play their ever so lovely tunes.
if i close my eyes the music accompanies the walls of my mind pretty well.
ain't that cool?
we're doomed to live a life of rather meaninglessness.
so why do I waste my share?
I'm growing ruby strawberries on my windowsill but I let them die,
what a standard human I am.
i am counting down days and hours and seconds,
poured down oblivion' s throat,
just for the universe to throw it up on someone else.
calculating the molecular probability of soul mates.
i'm an overly clicheic cliché living in the hypocritical world of not wanting to be one.
i listen to the songs i find necessary,
music is less than just entertaining,
so i lay in my bed and continue to confuse me.
drowning in the gigantic pile of imaginary flower petals of the flowers that would've probably lived if I wasn't so careless.
I am a **** joy if you get what I'm saying.
Look at me amusing myself in my own writing!
i should go to sleep someday,
but everyone's too sick to close their eyes while the stars are up and too tired to keep them opened in the sunlight.
Oh save our broken generation.
Full of misbehaved and twisted individuals such as my own self.

as you look out the window with your deep set eyes you tell me how you think the earth's breathing if you focused enough.
ironically enough I've always seen that.
pretty broken doll tell your jokes and stories once more so I could draw another smile on my face.
teach me how you do it... Wait I think I've been doing it myself for too long.
I tell you to play me something on the drums you so angrily enchant.
Play me something so the vibration coming off the drums would wake me up again.
I sit down on the always broken bench waiting for you to sit next to me.
But you always stay behind hands on the bench almost wanting to take the bench away.
I wish I wouldn't have to look up as you speak.
"could you be my lookout this summer?"
"I would sure if I'm still here"
the pretty lines on your jaw drop as you think it through
I'm leaving honey, what does it mean to you?
"you can't, you need to stay here for me just one more year"
I tell you I can't though I'd like to tell you that I would love to stay one more year just to come back everyday for you to tell me what cracked you up and what broke you down.
I'd stay so maybe one day our eyes would be allowed to look at eachother.
but i tell you I can't because there's no way I could
and as I say it I'd like to shed a tear but I've trained myself to well
As I say it I look up once more to see the pretty lines get sharper almost like they've accepted.
Trust you trust me don't you?
With your love interest, music taste, sexuality, drugs and life stories
As the bell rings we hide behind questions.
Are we both afraid of the same thing?
Couldn't be right?
You're wanted I'm not.
Correction
I want you, you don't.
Bad influence
It's you who made me want to turn my guts upside down for a drop of the same hallucinating I have every night in my dreams.
But it's you who gives me hope and despair.
Soft spoken we'll never be close to that.
Concave destroyed lover
I can't compare.
Do you feel these things anymore or have you given them up to the overdose?
Would you laugh at my sloppy poetry and prose?
You probably would.
Senseless *******
You know fixing you is a desire of mine
But humans can't get fixed love
Not by individuals at least.
And everyday as I tell you your eyes are beautiful for their central heterochromia
Everyday as you don't believe it so I need to make up another description.
I'll enjoy it and know that you're well enough.
I'm probably inexsitent in your mutilated brain
Since our worlds are far apart
But honey we're separetely the same.
We just never made contact.
And now I know as I saw the tears curdle up in your eyes
That maybe just maybe you're not as lost as I thought you'd be.

Gravitația situației
Poate că eu nu înțeleg.
Dormitul e o distracție.
Că mă ascund nu neg.
Într-o constantă rotație.
Eu nu fac turul complet.
Plutesc poate prea mult în ultimul timp.
Distruge-mă dacă poți.
Noaptea se transformă în anotimp.
Și ne primește pe toți.
Eu nu mai stau trează.
Fac parte din delincvenții nocturni.
Ne uităm la lună și așteptăm următoarea faza.
Ne uităm la stele și la cerul bătrân.
Se pare că a devenit o pasiune acestă tortură diurnă.
Dar nu pare așa rău când suntem împreună.
Deși "treaz".
E greu de obținut zilele acestea.
O să rămân fără răgaz.
Dacă mă las prizonieră în noaptea grea.

Do know
That when I put that ciggarete on my soft lips
I've given up
To the world's blunts and hits
I've changed my motto to **** everything.
Do know that when I inhale the devil's fragrance
I'd probably be madly in love with him
Like I've always been.
Bathing in the world of what they call sin
I'm loving it.
But yes
,
Do know that when that ciggarete is smoked
I've probably put down all my rules and walls
Probably decided that life wouldn't end if I try its finest poisons.

How is it that
everyone
Is so good at
destroying themselves
?

but darling
i'm telling myself the same critics
never change anything though
                          °
darling I'm trying to find appellations
for every other meaningless thing
but in my world of correlation
meaningless seems to have a meaning
                           °
i'm a hideous liar
meaning i'm a pretty face selling words of fire
meaning that I deliberate about being shallow or loyal
meaning that i'm dying but I'm quite the survivor
                         °
I'm just as broken down as my whole generation
because we're all the same just deadlier situations
but I'll lie myself through since it's what I'm good at...
you know denying myself isnt that bad
                         °
I've built myself a cursed regime
where my wounded hands reside
because when I decide to hide
no-one will ever find me
                         °
                      
I'm still the same unchanged, colorless and steeped of secrets
still part of the sick game of saving and killing heartstrings
                         °
but in the world where everyone's the same
in a world where you're a complete idiot if you go astray,
in this sick world I'm ready to embrace my "idiocy" _
                           °
with all due respect to the human race
I'd like to go on with my hypocrisy
I'll ask no-one else
If they approve of me_

I remember
That day when we went for a "small" getaway.
Still not summer
But it was hot enough that day.
That day we saw
Maybe the most beautifully surreal sunset.
Respecting no law
We just sat and stared at it.
Couldn't take our eyes off
The magnificent illusions of the sun.

We drove off
And the music begun.
On our merry way of contemplating
About planets and their orbiting
Stars and their loved nobodies.
We sang away to all the melodies.

Night was swallowing up our car
But we we're still marveling at every star.
And it's one of those only times I felt free
That's what freedom felt like to me.

It was also the first time I felt this type of love
Platonic
In love with someone's soul
Deliric
In love with the world
I'm in.
The only moment I had with no worry
And i thought this is the perfect moment to write  about it
One of my only happy memories.

It seems so ethereal now
So unreachable.
But to that moment I bow
Now I'm alone.
For that moment now I grieve.
There's none of that freedom left for me.
But the getaway remains
In our beloved rotting brains.

i feel like air
    - unnoticed-
    but
    -vital-
     cold and warm
no color
   (inhale)
   (exhale)
  forever

I am watching the grass grow
He said as his eyes turn yellow.
Fog and rain levitate around
Twirling and singing with no sound.
He shuts them up
Liquid thunder
I can't fall in the gap
Being able to breathe never seemed harder.
But crimson orchids grow out of desperation
Spreading their roots over hopes and dreams
In a game of decapitation
The headless boy wins.
And he dances on silent waters
Surrounded by velvet curtains
Broken everywhere by every flower
That told him love hurts.
But water still flows
And my orchids still grow
The liquid thunder stays in
And surrenders to the storm within.

i
give
up




~am i too strong to die or too weak to live? ~

Bruised violet sky of the mornings
Question my empathy
Blood red midnight skies
Take care of me.
It's been the same for days
Me and hurting for others.
I'm trying to find different ways
Of turning love into a color
And hate into desire.
It's been a couple of long nights
Of manufacturing dreams made out of worn out luster.
I'm staring right into the lights
Of bright disaster.
Love me rotting wood
Loosening up to the wind
Keep me painted in ****
I'm just a poisonous fiend.
Fading away into the blue

Drinking CocaCola seems better
Than eating Apple pie.
Maybe i have the wrong mentality in the wrong weather
Bringing my feet down feels wrong when I’m so high.
I’m giving up you know
Everything is repeating itself
Memories, experience and chances that I blow
Inside my little bubble **** of course I don’t need help.
I don’t think there has ever been anything wrong with me
I sliced my ankle open the other day
I look in the mirror and hate is all I see
But **** what my mind can say.
Nobody sees out of their cliques
That’s why I travel in between their piles of thoughts
My mind feels
But I lost.
**** it all
For hope is limited
A wake up call
To everyone I’ve ever met.
I’m leaving
I’m feeling
I’m killing
My mindset

-I’ve been lying to myself for so long-
-that now I can’t recognize myself-
-I look in the mirror-
{who are you?}
{a stranger...}

Neón lines on broken machinery
Warm showers and cold lingerie.
Neon lights repel and embrace me
Warm showers are just bath wannabes
Skyscrapers at night
Irking the moon
No humans in sight
The surface is cool.
Neon lights can't warm it up
They're just pretty to look at.
But I swallow them up slowly so maybe
I'll be considered holy.
And I enter my warm shower, only warm place I have left.
I let it combine the neon lights with the water.
So I can die slowly in the fluid neon and rest.

Drowning in ignorance.
I've given up on myself.
I try to breathe out of bubbles of assurance.
But I die with every breath.
I've decided I want to be a spectator to my own pain
The outsider grieving over a theatrical game.
If I was mature enough maybe I'd laugh
However I'm just an orphaned stranger.
A child taking care of its mother.
And hahahaha isn't it funny we've heard the same story over and over again
Nothing new, everyone's sad right?
But nobody's sad over the same pain
We're self-sufficient only at night.
Have I reached that stereotypical age when all you want to do is sleep?
Oh and how society loves to call this self-discovery.
So I just chose Drowning.
Or dying.
To fulfill the purpose of our perfectly functional society.

I live in a world of encrusted lies.
In a world of hellos that never come again after goodbyes
.
A world where they say you can't do anything right before you're worthless
.
I live in a world of constant distress.
A world where we choose hahas over *******
A world where we wait for red to turn into blue
.
I live in a world of worries
Where nobody gives a **** unless they're inside your story
.
A world of pretty lies and unspoken truths
A world with philosophy questioning our never ending route
.
What's a lie they say
Because they say at least one everyday.
But they're good aren't they?
I've been wrapped up in them for the past decade.
I'll drown in them by the time I'm 30.
Die with them when my coffin waits for me.

Spare me of the self-hatred tonight
Spare me of the pain until sunlight.
Spare me of the sad dreams
I deserve at least one please.
Spare me of the desires and wishes
No-one ever knows what their future is.
Spare me of the cruelty and sour taste
I am tired of every spike of pain my hand creates.
Spare me of this disaster
Spare me yet I have no master.
Who the **** in this world will spare me of the truth?
I keep on bitting from life's poisonous fruit.
Who'd spare me of the true face of earth?
Who'll love the unlovable?
We're afraid of the truth
Yet we're unpredictable.
Who'll spare us all from the war?
If we're all our own murderers at the core?
Spare me I'm already dying
Why should we find the truth if we're all lying?

My tears are cold tonight just like the rain
I've lost hope just like the clouds lose their temper.
And as the water from the sky pours itself off my house through the drain.
I **** my only helper.

My tears are cold tonight like the sea under the moon
My tears were brewed by my memories to be used for what will come soon.

My tears are cold tonight unlike the usual when they're always warm and calming.
My tears are cold tonight so maybe I'll be frozen when I need to wake up in the morning.

My tears are cold tonight under my roof.
My tears are cold tonight and I have no proof.
My tears are cold and I keep on fighting,
Desperately warming myself up as I watch the lighting.

And my tears are cold tonight
But I no longer put up a fight

I sometimes wonder if I can compare feelings.
Can I compare the power of when you find a song you love and dance to it 'till the sweat reaches your eyes to the power of the sadness when something you so much loved, dissappears and tears streak down your already glass rose cheeks?
Can I compare the pureness of a laugh to the pureness of a sigh?
Can I compare the "letting yourself be a little selfish" of being proud of yourself to "letting yourself be a little selfish" of letting yourself cry for no reason at all?
Can I compare the surprising relief of the moment right after I finish a poem to the surprising scare of the moment I caress my head just to see a handful of hair fall out?
Can I compare the strength of love to the strength of hate?
I think i can

I told my friend that love is silent until it's on the edge of dying out.
It seems like ~love~ calls out the moment you don't feel like loving anymore.
And I said this without knowing what love is.

Crystallise my hair, my skin, my lips
Let me float, let me drift
The water's color don't matter as long as the sky's blue
My mindset's fine without thinking about anyone
There's no you
There's no me either
It's just the water and the crystals that formed all over me
With this thin shinny rock layer, I can finally see
And I see the world faceted, cut in every place
It never faded, there's a crystal on everyone's face.
Everyone has a face for me and another face for someone else
How long will it take until we can crystallise sense?
They seem to all have a crystal in their mind
But I have one on my skin, my hair and my lips
My thoughts can finally all collide
My hopes can all sink.
Let this crystallise every part of me
Maybe someday I'll be free.