Being understanding kind and nice does not always pay.
Telling yourself over and and over: They must be having a hard day.
Life is unkind and people don't mind.

Usually most people really don't mind unless it's about what they can do.
Life is so unkind and people most of the time are too.
And it makes no sense what they say to me about how they care when a duck dies.
But when a young person becomes homeless nobody cries.
Yet they tell me they think every life is so precious but some people are always fighting.
Trying to do the right thing.

But it doesn't pay.
It's just another hard and terrible day.
Where you have no control and love is impossible to find.
Life is unkind and people don't really mind.
When you've seen it you will find and you can feel it when you see it.
When you've known it and how it can hit.

So then maybe you can understand.
But then it kills you when you give someone a hand.
Because you know in the end you'll have to let go.
You can't, you can't save everybody.
Some people are born to always feel lonely.

Being understanding kind and nice does not always pay.
Telling yourself over and and over: They must be having a hard day.
Life is unkind and people don't mind.

Trying to be understanding and kind.
But nobody seems to understand it is what you'll find.
Loving, understanding, caring, always daring to fight so hard.
For the people you care for, don't fall apart and together try some more.

Holy sea of waves that we're running into.
Holy sea, uncontrollable, terribly hard, incredibly magical, fresh, pretty salty and blue!
It doesn't always pay.
But play.
Play in the water, hold each other.
In the water.
Play in the waves...

Dear daughter,

Don’t you feel right now how every little thing is just enough or a little too much?
Wishing for something better, wanting something nice...  

Melancholic from the past.
You and him on the beach.
It’s in your system.  
But now you’re just walking away.
Back to where it all started but you haven’t just started.

You’ve seen and felt it all.
It’s time to finish the circle and be grateful for the past.
And the pain can still be there.
You are ready to face it.
It’s ok.
It’s just sliding off your tired body that feels heavy on your soul.

It’s ok cause you’re going back to where you belong.
Finally you’re ready.
Back where you belong.
It’s ok.
The journey’s over.

The differences only hurt when you can’t read me.
So you keep asking me to read you pages...
It takes forever this way.
But it’s all we’ve got.
And it feels like I did read your book somewhere...
But not completely.
I think I missed a lot of details.
Maybe I shall go back and read some more.
Although it gets so hard to focus.
I’m so extremely tired.
I think I see those lines in your eyes and I hear them in your voice.
Hopefully your eyes won’t turn into mine.

I can’t live but I have to.
There’s just no other way.
As long as you’re fighting so hard and needing me.
As long as my place to live is open for view.
Although there’s no way that I can live.

It’s cruel but I’m not allowed to say it.
Only to the ones that know and feel it everyday.
Like me cause it’s too much.
Like a slave to life.
Cause whatever I do I’ll end up in hell.
Whatever I try, whatever we try.
It’s a nightmare and even worse.

It’s hell and even worse.
You are the ghost and I’m the zombie.
And our parents are slaves behind the massive broken machines.
Working to keep them running.

Just to stay alive.
Cause there’s just no other way.
As long as you’re fighting so hard and needing me.
As long as our place is open for view.
Although there is no way of living in there.

Don't we all have our own little black books in here in which we attempt to write the pain away?
When I saw the new girl sitting in the garden all exhausted with hers in front of her, I ran upstairs.
I have no energy to meet another who writes her pain and plan down in a little black book.
No, I'll leave you alone.
Alone with your black book.
And I'll be in here writing too.
Upstairs or in the basement where I found out where they keep the clean white coats.
Nobody will see the stories.
Nobody can explain the journey.
I just hope you'll get some mercy.
Cause I've never seen any mercy.
Even while dreaming.
But the dreams do keep me going.
I have to still keep going.
Don't we all have to still keep going?
Don't we all need a little black book?
Do you also feel frozen and stuck deep inside your body?
Constantly?
Doesn't it get too heavy?
Like for me every day.
I won't ask you today.
I don't want to know the answer.
I have no breath left to respond.
And maybe you don't either really.
So I run upstairs.
And close the curtains to the garden and lay my head down on the chair.
The chair I wish I had when my bag of helium filled itself with oxygen when I wasn't sitting up straight enough so I didn't die.
And now in here I can't get helium.
And I wasn't approved for euthanasia either.
I lost my place to live because of trying, three times because of the situation.
Homeless.
Can you see what's wrong with this system?
Fighting for euthanasia, having dates planned already.
But the doctor to do the final check did not approve.
The second one didn't either.
But then one did after trying a few more treatments but they thought he was too willing.
Then the next one didn't either and so the case was closed.
The Netherlands, euthanasia, it's not working at all.

I lie here completely open.
Drinking anything you pour in.
Anything is better than nothing.
I'm resting at the church steps every day.
Of a religion I hadn't heard of before.
The one that seems to fit me.
Right now that I learned the lessons that brought me to the next step.
Tomorrow I'm moving again...

Why do I try when everything sinks and the water keeps flowing?
Why do I plant seeds when in this land nothing is growing?
Why do I buy clothes for a body that I don't know?
Why do I put glitter on when another cry soon will follow?
Disappointed but alive, or dead?
I don't know what feels worse.
But when I have to be alive I'll always keep on trying to cure this curse.
But why?! Cause I'm a bad bad nurse!!!
I want to be able to **** the reason why I fight.
I don't mind if I die in the process.
Dying in this way is progress.
How many times do I have to keep trying to explain it?
Will the right people get it when I'm dead?
Will they admit?
I'm a nurse that will always be bad.
Bad at living, bad with an attitude, bad and in a bad mood.
Bad but good.
Sometimes feeling alright too.
When I smile when I see you.
But please get it now.
I'm trying to find the poison to **** that virus that's in me and it will **** me.
And it's fine and the truth and it's just all reality.
But doctors never want to see that and only they can provide it.
One day I'll make my own and not just a little bit.
Just wait and see, watch me and change things hopefully.

Everything can be nothing.
When it's too much.
Or just a little.
I have no middle or inbetween.
I have nothing but everything.
I've seen everything.
But I can do nothing.
When I saw nothing,
I thought I could do everything.
Turned out it was nothing.

Everything I learned brought me to nothing.
And I feel everything and it takes me to nothing.
Even if I could write down everything.
Nobody would see it actually happening.
But I can't write down nothing or everything.
I can't sing everything and everything is nothing.
So I write and sing just something.
But in that something is everything.

And when I'm singing everything it's too much.
So it's nothing.
So everything is nothing.
Like a little bit of everything.
Is nothing.
Today I wanted everything.
Yesterdag I wanted nothing.
I'm longing for something or someone that feels like everything.
Someone or something that is everything!

Everything I can't be.
Nothing I have ever felt.
Like nothing can make me feel.
Like everything does not matter.
But I can't find nothing or everything.
When I can feel almost everything it turns back into nothing.
So I'm longing for just something.
Or someone that's everything!

Don't be everything.
Be my everything.
My chameleon is so lonely.
Don't you see his sad looking eyes?
Longing for something that can make him feel like he is everything!

If you looked into my eyes and knew how bright they used to be, you knew I died.
As I write my words are dying now with me.
My body doesn't like it when I try to get ready.
Just sitting isn't ok either.

I just eat, fly and sing or sleep if I can.
Cause only then life doesn't feel so bad.
Like being on fire, heavy or drowning.
My body is a bag of potatoes on fire.
I'm so dead, I'm not moving.

Let me just stare in the distance.
And if you looked into my eyes, you'd know I died.
I'm buried inside.
Strangled and tight.
Gone but stuck.

Away from life.
Away from light.
Colours fly around me in my dark room.
I fall to the ground.
I lie there just still.

Losing faith is fun.
It makes me want to dance with you.
And use rubber tubes as straws.
And just drink water.
Cause nothing feeds me actually.
The combination of you and Cocorosie is so good.
And everything else is so bad.
And we're smiling as we're hawling.
You made fun of everything when I told you everything went wrong.
Oh, I love you so much.
Even when you don't stop talking and my head explodes.
No wait, I hate you then.
Whatever….
Losing everything is fun.