I hope you know, hidden in my formal banter
Is a love letter begging to be answered
But you don't know how your laughter affects me so

I thought we were alike
I thought that I could try
To creep a little closer
But I need my distance because when I'm older
I'll feel better and far more sober
About the fact I was a lover of your sillouette

I don't understand your language
I only feel hatred leaping off the page
But your gaze is so gentle
Even though it's not meant for me
It's a drug that could put an insomniac to sleep

I looked for you when it was weeks
Would trudge through the snowstorm,whiten my cheeks
I don't make you happy because you're free
To walk away at any time

So I guess I waste my breath
Nostalgic 'cause theres nothing left
For me to give you but this weight is hefty
I'd bear it all for you just like I always have

My heart aches for change
But in my web of dullness im stuck just the same
I look for someone else to occupy the space of me
Ignoring my own responsibility
In favor of forgetfulness, self pity
I need to take a walk
Because the fresh air talks
It whistles "i love you"
As it caresses my cheeks
Making me cold but making me feel
I try to stimulate gratitude
It's all artificial like the self I refuse to give latitude
Fake is better when it's more real
Than the emptiness of everything I feel
I don't think i've been human for years
Maybe I was cursed from the moment I was reared
By parents who wanted their eldest to have company
Of someone who was funny
I was an accident who's hardly happy
But is not life made of disrupted repetitions
Are all characters bound to tradition
Of fickle meanings I think not
In the end of my nonsense I hope my words continue to talk

In need of space i'm in a slump
Cleaning up the garbage, quenching the fire of the dump
I smear delicacy on a skin too familiar to coarse, salty tears
And tell the mirror to go to sleep, that rest will soothe its fears
I don't care to question if it deserves love
The answer lies in the future, determined up above
I fight for a future that continues to move
That shakes the red in an unstable groove
If I stumble all won't break
I dance atop the tightrope of fate
As I have seen the abyss, it knows me well
All too familiar is that alluring smell
I've grown to know better perfumes
I chase better things rather than the drama of threat or self sabotaging doom

Every morning, driving,
I see the orange sun rising,
trying to shove my problems
into a four-inch storage bin.
Lock it tight behind a
four-inch orange door.
Inject myself with a syringe
full of poisonous illusions,
covered in mental wounds,
I fall to the floor,
self-hate oozing.

Losing sleep,
screaming inside.
Drifting apart in my car—
I wanna call you.
My heart’s sinking,
tryna salvage good moments.
It’s a challenge
to forgive myself again.

I’m sorry.
I haven’t left
you a message.
All day, I’ve wanted
to talk to you.
Sitting in my car,
watching the orange
sun falling down,
I drift…

Any relationship,
friendship or more,
is a game of charades.
It’s messy when
two sides elaborate—
lost in gesture,
illusions and
miscommunications
that leave more questions
instead of answers.

It’s scary…
to talk,
to reach out
to someone,
sometimes—
they might hate you,
grow annoyed by your texts,
see you as a burden,
or simply walk away.
You want them to stay,
then you feel greedy,
stupid or strange to say it.

That’s the point.
Charades is never clever;
Everything is a guess—
A choice.
And each choice
is a fifty-fifty bet—
like Russian Roulette,
where you pull the trigger
to see what happens.

It gets messy…