Broken times let my doves fly
They carry sighs and lullabies
Sing of late nights and butterflies
Your blue eyes stare into mine

Broken days let my demons stay
They haunt with haze and long faces
Cry of pain and yesterdays
Your shadow fades and falls away

Broken weeks let my doves speak
With broken wings and no songs to sing
They fell at my feet and cried for me
Regret screams and my heart bleeds

Broken years kept my demons here
With crimson tears and ringing in my ears
They're vivid, clear, trapped in a mirror
Crippling fear suffocating my dear

Your face seems to be all I see
whenever I close my eyes.

why does he haunt me?
a ghost of love we never truly had,
how could I miss it?
You?
..him?

Memories flash through my head
like daggers to the chest.
Wounding me seemed to be the target
before our first encounter.
To gaze, unbothered,
at something so innocent
while envisioning
how to bring me to my knees.

did I love you? or did I love the idea
of you loving me?
I’ll never truly know
because you are a ghost
of my past.

and ghosts don’t answer questions.

Even if it’s just for a second
that pressure weighing down on my heart is lifted
and I can finally feel what I'd been avoiding for so long.
I’m terrified yet so prepared
to let in what I’d locked out;
every cell in my body telling me to retreat again.
But you help me to feel calm,
whispering that I can.
Your warm hands on mine
as I open up my heart
every emotion pouring out,  
you catch me as I fall apart.
The present is nonexistent when I’m with you
an empty mind with no thoughts to interrupt;
it’s just us two.
As I close my eyes
and take that breathe I didn’t know how much I needed
I feel everything
yet nothing
that small little girl who had once retreated,
steps forward into the light
to finally face her demons.

Our journey was brief
nearly as long as
a walk in that park
down by her place,

fleeted like the sound
of a crackling leaf,
on that roadwalk home
in utter solace,
oh how I decieve my years,
for those mere minutes,

they may be
demonic nightmares
pushing you to limits,
to me they're dreams,
worth more than
every passing wakings.

I often sit at the pavement,
tired by the bereavement,
perhaps from there
our journey resumes,
but this time
the stroll consumes,
that's how I'll go.

Hey, how are you?
Are you grateful for this year?
Or are you mad because you can't go anywhere
because of the invincible disease that's floating everywhere
The disease that hinders your freedom
Or are you thankful because you had the chance
to know yourself more,
the chance to make up for the lost time with your loved ones
Or are you alone by yourself with nothing to do but
listen to the tick of the clock, the beat of your heart and
the classic beep of pure silence
Or does the loneliness that engulfs you acts as a therapy for your
broken soul,
Or is it just the fuel that feeds the monster inside
The monster that makes you vulnerable to your emotions,
The monster that keeps you up all night weeping,
The monster that's slowly drifting you away from being sane,
The monster who everyone calls a “phase”
But you call it depression.
Because no one understands the agonizing misery you’re going thorough
And instead of fighting for being in control
you just gave up and let it roam
because you are now tired of their judgment,
of their criticism,  
of their endless complaints.
But don’t worry you’ll get through this
You’ll make It through this.
Because you’re a warrior who survived war even without weapons.

I don’t know who I would be, without the darker side of my personality.

The painted desert of night allows me to explore the eternal moonlit forest of my life.

The beating compass of my heart, points in no particular direction.

I pace my steps on its rhythm, though the deeper I venture, the less I can rely on its repetition.

Neatly trimmed hedges devolve into bogs, witches to the west, sirens sing to me through the midnight fog.

The road less traveled stained with blood, a path beaten with hurried footsteps and battered love.

I take to the tress; beneath the wind-strained leaves, the monsters are now stalked by me.

Demons by day evade my pleas. Now, stuck in a dream, they can’t leave.