I want to lay my face in your hands
And close my eyes.
Your hands - those thick and strong hands.
So much bigger than mine.
I miss your face so much.
How I long to touch you - because I never have.
And never will.
Not in this lifetime.
So... I want to believe that parallel universes do exist.
And just may be in one of them, I do get to touch you.
You never showed any signs but I'd just humour myself - I'd believe you want the same things as me.
So, I dream of a parallel universe with you and me in it - together.

I like being busy
There's no surprise in that,
It's the only way to survive and make the voices quiet that argue in my head.
I like being busy
It's the only way I've known,
To burry down those feelings
That keep on surfacing on their own.
I like being busy
I enjoy being burnt out
Because that's how I muffle the agony from the bleeding cut.
I don't want a moment of silence
Because that's when
The voices in my head are
The loudest.
They Mourne, they agonize, they miss,
They sympathize.
And then all I have is this burning feeling which is
The darkest.

A piece of my soul got bloodied and bruised.
I clean her up and say, “here have some painkillers, you will be alright”.
Sun has come up, it is no longer night.
So I put my soul aside, hoping she will be alright.
I put on the my black glasses, I mentioned the sun, right?
Off I go to face another day in my life.