Scars are the evidence that wounds can be healed...

but scars are also a reminder of how those wounds got there...

In the damp morning streets of my mind
a smell of words so foul
phrases that bind
and forever hidden underneath a dark cowl

Walking neath a hollow sky
a living, breathing, stone-cold vaul
as a lovely darkness constantly spills over my mind's eye
but never reaching thy heart, this empty hall

Words luminous like stars
reflecting on the sea below my feet
my mirrored self gripping onto bars
this is where truth and make-believe meet

I ask the Great Ones to give me the wounds
I ask for those that I deserve
Waited to bleed for many moons
this body is eager and so is every nerve

I cannot live another day
living of the starlit night
hiding my sole purpose away
this fragile human shell, my endless fright

Is this my Anathema?
I feel endlessly accursed
This mind's life is nothing but a phantasma
and it seems nothing can collect what has once been dispersed

Am I not dead yet?
Is this not dying?
I was not hit but still I bled
Why have you taught me how to be death-defying?

Blinded by what is illuminated
I'm always drowing in the space between
a warm light that has faded
and a bright and terrifying fire burning so keen

So just finally set my flesh ablaze
break through this agony, a heart so tame
let this sea of blood erase
and overflow this frame

My thoughts return to you
Like picking at
An infected wound.

Satisfying,
but unproductive.

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.

take the time you need to find yourself
I know that love seems impossible when you're hurting
and I know I still have things to learn and wounds to heal
I will think of you in the in-between
I'll pray that what is meant for me will never be lost