at night
when everyone is sound asleep
i have to remind myself
that i am breathing
and i am alive

i loved him because he made me feel small and fragile,
a feeling i never got quite used to.

and it's hard sometimes,
when you perform the part,
but no longer know who the actor is.

My words became
knives.
A paragraph,
a sword.
And when I
made
my first speech,
the room
                was
                        hit
                             with
                                            a
                                                    grenade.

it's the type of secret that isn't yours to tell.
you know?
but oh how i wish to feel less alone.
it's just me and this secret i stumbled upon,
and it's trapped me in this perpetual state of processing.
it's not mine to tell,
but it lingers on the tip of my tongue,
waiting for me to betray it...
and betray you.

there are some beautiful things,
that the eye of a camera will never see.

i fell in love with the words you said,
so i strung them up above my bed.
but the shadows played tricks upon my eyes,
and your beautiful words turned into lies.

i have a wall of the things you said,
it sits and it rots above my bed,
and it sits and it waits and it turns to dust,
'cause you said it was love when it was only lust.

the world needs more dancing fools.

i tried to buy a heart across the street,
but the man there said new hearts don't come cheap.

people say
their love burns like fire,

but mine burns like ice
which much more suits my desire.

you ask me why i'm nervous
and in my head i reply,
i don't want you to uncover
the parts of me that i despise.

it baffles my mind,
that the world didn't stop when you did.

everyone says that it's brighter in the sunshine,
but baby,
it's the rain that makes all the colors shine.

most people say
they are are afraid of dying,
but perhaps it is love
that is most terrifying.

you ask me why i'm not angry
you ask me when it began
but honey i'll tell you,
it's hard to hate the dying man

you ask me why i still love him
you ask me how i can
but baby i'll tell you,
it's hard to hate the dying man

beau·ti·ful
/ˈbyo͞odəfəl/

adjective


a thing with soul

all the tragic love songs are starting to make sense

There is no arguing when you're drunk
You never listen to what I say.
And there's no use trying even when you're not.
You don't understand either way.