Silence is scary because it means all your thoughts remain in your head
Femme Fatale, black widow waiting for the vibrations of the web
Insecure in my feelings I weep, grand dreams of being wed
But too often the bridesmaid but that is beside me

I just wish I never followed this path again
I could've trusted my intuition and not the way you led
Instead of harboring my ocean inside, I freeze
Focus on anything, the trees, the buzzing bees
But time after time I can feel you creep into my head
My emotional seas uprooted by your breeze
Reminding me of your touch, the way you breathe, the lack

Hoping finally the key I need would come to me
Open me up like a door exposing my heart to the floor
After years of leave, frozen perfectly
You exposed me to everything, now my body needs

Maybe I tried escaping myself by diving into you
But how I forget that you simply a mirror
Showcasing my biggest fear... myself

You don't have to go
But if you must,
Escape to a place
Where the cold winds blow,
A place of starry nights
And even better snow.

If you happen to ask what one half of me thinks of other
I would ponder upon the perplexity,
that to think less of me would mean that I don't think of me at all.

Lonely.
Darker.

Seething.
Blacker.

Slowly seeping,
deeper into the ether,
toward the sleeping creature.

The Keeper of Neither.

I can wash it off but it's all for naught,
It's in my skin now.
Spent too long on the wrong end of upside down.
Never have I ever made
or heard a sadder sound
than when I finally got a grip
just to watch it still slip
and shatter on the ground.

Am I lost or just waiting to be found?

So here I am sitting in my throne of obsidian,
drinking damnation as I dine on oblivion.
Self proclaimed king with a paper mache crown.

Am I lost or just waiting to be found?

there's so many things i wonder about
but you're the greatest wonder of them all

yea, i'm talking to you
sitting in there, blue halo
feathers weighing me down
why do you weigh me down?
(𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎, 𝚘𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕?)

no, i'm not talking to you
there's so many things i wonder about
but you're the greatest wonder of them all
catch me, night, i fell like a sociopath
catch me, light, i can't stop believing love
so it sets in rust
and rises to emptiness

yea, i'm talking to you
sitting in there, stained-glass poet
edge of a blade, crying notes
why why why why why; don't you know?
(𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎, 𝚘𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕?)

some days i feel like a sociopath
(𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝)
but i can't stop believing love
(𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎, 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝)
there's so many things i wonder about
(𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝)
but you're the greatest wonder of them all
(𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝.)

it sparkles in their eyes
in yours, in mine
marble and gold
flickering in the sky

a trail of tar, a halo of paper
let's take our train to heaven.
see you there, see you never
meet my friends, i've got seven
but she's the prettiest
with diamonds in her teeth
red wine in her kiss
she's my podium, my glory
she's the reason i stand.

now they eye the art
through me, eying her
i'm made of air but i like them
telling me all i've been
matters (my podium.)
'cause she's the prettiest
with promises in her shadow, with fire in her hair
she'd turn and launch a thousand ships, oh paris:
least lonely of men.
oh, roaches, she's my wonderland.

it sparkles in their eyes
in yours, in mine
a shape like the sun.
a trail of tar, a halo of paper
hold on fast my ticket to heaven
when saint are dust, gold is forever
so kiss me to the grave, loveliest of seven.

"money is the anthem / of success"
"money is the reason / we exist"
oh, lana / oh, paris.

i have loved her in many ways
i would not call her
a lover; i am fearful
for i am young; she will have decades.

you know,
the more i have to say
the less i end up saying.
i want to live our life again
so i told you
i love you.

ink is the same color
as a certain canvas

when you look hard enough
you can almost see
the stars sprinkled in there

Empty streets, flickering lights
Not a soul in sight in the darkness of the night.
No fevered whispers, no drunken gait,
No flirty couples, no late-night deadlines.

The streets are devoid of life,
And yet you can't say it's dead.

People are living, breathing, sleeping,
under different roofs, in different rooms,
in varying states of ecstacy and misery and outright boredom.
In endless creativity and stuttering breaths,
witness the arousal and the ebb and flow of time
without so much as a second thought
to anyone outside the realm of safety and peace
within the four corners of their reality.

With each inhale, there is life.
Why can't we say that each exhale brings death?

For what is death if not simply as the absence of life?
When the glimmer in his eyes fades, when the smile you long for
doesn't appear, when you reach for his hand and find nothing but air--

Life.
It's empty.
Life.
It's meaningless.

I don't feel alive without you.
Yet I don't feel like I'm dead, either.

And so here I am, in a weird limbo that is just pain, pain, pain--
The pain of each inhale not bringing me what life is supposed to be
as described in picturesque scenes from tiny little windows.
The disappointment of every exhale that brings no end to this emptiness, this chasm of nothing in my chest that you once filled.

Empty streets, like veins that pump blood that refuse to sing.
Flickering lights, from my lighter that spouses one last, dying flame.
No fevered whispers, no drunken gait.
No love, no adrenaline.
Nothing.