Carry your heart on your shoulders
Put on your best version and get out from the cage of routine
Take off the dusty old veil and live
Don't be afraid to look into the eyes of the world
Being vulnerable means victory
Victory against fear, prejudice,
Victory against everything that has prevented you from being yourself!

The dewy-eyed moon smiles upon me.
It knows I've returned home.
The mountains lined with termination dust
hark the ending of summer.
Soon the clusters of evergreens
will be coated in snow,
just as they were last winter.
The snow falls flake by flake.
It's in no rush to hit the ground;
it will melt once it does.

The same type of peace
befalls my quiet life.
Slowly, I return to old ways.
Like footprints in the snow,
the tread of future days
looks much like those of the past.

I lay in bed,
I turn left, right,
It's 11 pm.
I turn left and right,
I wash my face,
It's 12 am.
I wash my face,
I burst into tears,
It's 1 am.
I burst into tears,
I cry, cry,
It's 2 am.
I cry and cry,
I cry myself to sleep,
It's 3 am.

Sugarless ideas sleeping furiously
Wake my every week badly obviously;
No sugar, no sweetness comes to me kindly,
I am just rolling my days down tastelessly, blindly.

Still life may be silent, may be violent,
May be a green sight, may be a street light,
May be the nature's scent, or maybe it's cement,
May be moving, or maybe it's never evolving,
May be repeating, may be remaining,
Or maybe what's still is just an idyll
And life is not meant to feel,
Just to fill, fill, fill...
Until life's still.

Sugarless ideas sleeping furiously
Wake my every week badly obviously;
No sugar, no sweetness comes to me kindly,
I am just rolling my days down tastelessly, blindly.

everything is so messy,
i feel this aching pain when i'm at home, and when i'm out with friends i feel lonely.
my mind feels like my bedroom, a right off.
sure, you can tell me to clean it and i can try,
i can want to clean it but no matter how many times i shove that ***** laundry back into a pile; and no matter how many times i throw everything out,
it all comes back out sooner than later. i crave a tidy life, i tidy mind and a tidy room, but it's so hard to keep up with.
i would rather let sleep cradle me in it's gentle arms for the rest of the day, and do it tomorrow.
though, tomorrow never comes and thus my room and my mind stay the same.
a vicious, but comforting cycle.
i like it when things stay the same, i like it more than i should.
all i've had my whole life is change,
now i find comfort in static, i find comfort in knowing what's going to happen tomorrow.
i find comfort having routine even though the cycle i'm in is destructive and makes me hate myself, it's hurtfully comforting.
that doesn't make any sense but here's something that might,
feeling something is better than feeling nothing
negative or positive
maybe that's why i stick around you.
you don't help me clean, if anything you make even more of a mess, but that keeps the routine going.
i'll clean tomorrow. then turns into tomorrow. then tomorrow. then tomorrow. then...