Your eyes fixed on the screen
and mine on you.
You're watching a story
And I am, too.


F.Z.N

There's a room full of vases
And each one is different.
Some have cracks,
Others, fractures;
Some have crumbled,
Others, shattered;
Some have different colours
In a patchwork pattern.
Some look whole and well
But only from a distance;
Others' cracks are so fine
Only the vase can tell it's broken.
But each vase is beautiful.
Each vase can be useful,
Be patched up and hold something.
This room full of vases
Appears sad to some,
But it is also
Brimming with life.

she looked at his soft eyes. he held so much sadness in them. she only knew bits and pieces. he always would avoid the topic, changing the subject to her. "i want to hear your story. the real, honest to god truth." with shaking hands and tear filled eyes he told her his story. she held his hands, and wiped his tears. no one is whole, but that doesn't mean we can't help people fix themselves.

It was cold. And  quick.
Not the moment my heart was torn, but
The second it was put back together, so quickly.
So happily.
So lovingly.

I see an ugly side of me that no one else can see,
And I wonder what would they do if they see this part of me,
This ugly, hideous, part of me,
Longing to be fixed, controlled, repaired.

Each time I try to change for the better,
Inevitably, I keep on succumbing myself to it, ****** in it,
Tormenting myself, and regretting what I've done, eventually,
Without fail, again and again,
Repeating the act.

Who am I lying to?
Not the world, but myself,
And who do I put the blame onto?
Not the world, but myself,
It's binding me tightly,
I can't get free,
Will never ever be.

You're perfection

In a way that
A toaster
Will always and without fail
Toast your bread.

In that way
You have one job,
To simply be mine
And you did it perfectly.

But you see
Sometimes toasters break
What they did so perfectly
They can not do at all

But you see
Even though you are broken
Even though you aren't mine
You still seem to be

Absolutely perfect

Many legends there be back in days of old;
Legends of bold knights upon their noble steeds.
This be a tale starring a knight and his steed
As one and the same.

'Twas in the Renaissance city of Poitiers
The prodigy of a holy knight was born;
Sir Nathanëal of the Salomon bloodline,
Lineage of victors.

He bore the heart and voice of an archangel
And the loyalty of a priest to his God.
No other horse he rode but his first and last;
Dear "Divinitus."

Alas, his loyalty had cost him dearly
In the midst of the Battle of Moncontour.
Thus came the end of Nathanëal Salomon.
Or so it had seemed.

By the hands of benevolent sorcery,
Nathanëal and Divinitus lived again,
This time sharing a peculiar physique
Of both man and horse.

Thus, blessed with fur of white and a mane of gold,
Well-equipped with lightweight armour and claymore,
He walked the outskirts of France slaying evil
As both knight and steed.

Is it because I didn't talk to you enough?
Is it because I didn't treat you well enough?
Is it because I didn't give you enough of my time?
Is it because you never wanted to be mine?

Is that why? Is that why you had to leave me?
Is that why? Is that why you had to go?

Is it because things are getting too hard for you?
Is it because you felt I couldn't comfort you?
Is it because you didn't want to burden me?
Is it because you just wanted what was best for me?

Is that why? Is that why you had to leave me?
Is that why? Is that why you had to go?

Is it because you knew we weren't meant to be?

You stitched your name on my heart and in my brain.

It hurt but I wasn't broken...

So I tried to pick them out,

But I only bled

So I left them there

And took the scars instead.