Dear Lilly

Do you want help to fight with your monster?
Do not call me now, I may be drunk.
You liked to listen to stories of fairy tales before bed.
But you  did not understand what it meant.
So you laughed

Because you did not know that with Stockholm syndrome you lived.

Are you willing to sell your brain?
And your dreams?
How much do you want to sell them?

Are people dying for God?
Are you going to die for me?

Let's get out of here
I want to make your mind spin.

Dear Lilly

Why does everyone talk a lot?

Today I will take you to the land of fantasies.
They will not control your mind there.


I can give you freedom.
If you are able to keep your thoughts with irony.

Be very careful with  what they say.
They told you that love is a healing machine.
Let's us supposed that they are right.
Do you want to be healed?

Everyone started to feel like they came back to life now.
Everyone begs for a kiss
Everyone begs for more time
While I wanted to burn inside.

And all the girls have their heads in their lost dreams.
I want to be ****** not to get involved.
They have forgotten how love hurts.
It seems they are not afraid of the smell of love.
I do not want to inhale the scent, the last time I did it completely destroyed me.

I'm going to smoke cigarettes.
I'm going to shake my head.
I put the red lipstick on.
I will drink .
I'll get the best outfit.
I dance the love songs.

But I will not talk about emotions here.
Because it seems like everyone wants to romanticize broken hearts.

Dreamers like his strong scent.
But it is not the smell of broken hearts, it is not the smell of summer on our skin, it is not the smell of flowers springing in the spring, nor of innocence.
It's the smell of love.
Love is in the air
In the land of cold hearts.
In a place of empty hearts and vibrations of misunderstood beings.
The smell of love still seems to be in the air.
It spreads as fast as if it were disease.
So I'm going to get ****** so I do not get it.
It spreads so fast and gives false euphoria.
In the end, it disappears.
We were disappointed after that.

We with unhealed wounds can not be involved in this communion of dreams and fantasies.

For some love is the only reason they exist.

Everyone seems poisoned by love.
 Because it will satisfy their unreal needs ...
But knowing that it toxic and disappointment is unlimited.
And when the pain comes , nobody wants to get involved.

Do not use drugs .
Do not use love.

It seems to be metaphor for little poetry.
But it is the nostalogy of love not understood.

he is
Mr. Perfect
and i’m a perfect
*** to have ever, for
even a moment, believed
we could even resemble a
real couple, in real love,
like such a thing exists
beyond media-fed
fantasies.

he says
he loves me
and he’d never lie
to me, not on purpose.
but would he love me if
he knew my secrets? i go
from Chopin giggles to
a Chopin breakdown,
steeped in Chopin
teardrops

When I was a fire, no one was here.
I burned inside every day.
And to keep my head sane.
I lay on the ground on the summer sun.
No one wanted to reach out when I gave in to love.
I was so hurt that I slept on top of my wounds.
And now you appear.
To talk about love.
But I ...
I do not want to know about love.
I do not want pain.
I do not want to be part of that wicked game that love.
I want to flow like the sea.
I do not want to feel the love to relax in my dream.
And you insist that I need to fall in love ...
The only thing I need
It's about feeling alive again.
I do not want to sell my brain, for emotions and fantasies.
Romance and poetry
For me they are no more than the fetishes of dreamy people.
I live the reality.
The reality is that love ...
It's a wicked game.

Unanswered fantasies are not discreet
Thoughts burned into the minds of the restless
Silent ghosts, tip-toeing with heavy feet
But they are not words for us to confess.

Lust for matters and things that cannot be
Matrimonies of what is and is not
With lullaby whispers we tame this sea
Wicked little details, only we’ve caught.

Yet somehow my body is translucent
Dull skin, thin and fragile with overt veins
Blood saturated with my existence
Tainted with the colors of love and pains.

Unanswered fantasies are not discreet.
Silent ghosts, tip-toeing with heavy feet.

When you're hooked on skin,
No drug holds its power.
All the seeds of sin within
At once begin to flower.

Desperation spreads.
Self control is fleeting.
Every ***** thought is led
Through fantasies repeating.

Soon the pressure peaks.
Strength begins to taper.
Every gush of passion leaks
And soils the tissue paper.

I'll whisper my secrets
to the stars and pray
you are far, far away,
because my darkest
desires, and
wildest dreams
were not meant for you,
my dear.
They were meant for the
boy with the tree at his
spine and
all of my fantasies
on his
fingertips.

we can’t focus on ourselves
because we’re too focused on
love
heartbreak
& fantasies

we can’t build our own hearts
without it still breaking over
someone
or something