when the nights grow longer
and the days grow darker,
and the only light is the one
that can be switched off anytime,
you force yourself to wake up,
you force yourself to eat,
you force yourself to try
just a little harder,
and when you need to sleep
you have to force yourself,
ironically enough,
not to think
about the looming danger,
about the trembling hands,
about every test you couldn't pass,
about how the nights are longer
and how the days are darker,
and the only light you've got
is the one inside your heart.

i stay out of it more than i used to,
painting pictures on a metaphorical canvas.
anything is possible if i want to
find something that catches on,
leave everything else that matters
and turn away from it all.

i have great conversations with myself,
drawing memories like a string to wrap and tighten.
i live and die keeping it to myself
with every thought that spills through
like gasoline, begging for a lighter.
i stay out of it more than i used to.

a thin red line,
it's there for all who do not know
if they are going to be here
to see the sun,
the way it rises,
chasing all the shadows out,
the way it wraps its shining warmth
around the ground,
around our souls.
you make a vow
to fight as long as you still have
the strength to take another breath
and fill your lungs,
and take a step
towards the twilight as it fades
with every star that it creates,
so in its final burst
you hope it takes us all,
may god have mercy on our souls.

you're not sleeping well,
every next new pill
is but a means to an end,
and it barely means anything at all.
if you dream, you fall,
and that fall's prolonged
by every mantra that someone
advised you to try,
by every breathing exercise
to the sound of the rain or the sea,
and the only thing you see
is the fear of losing your mind.
there's no chemical relief
as there is no magic spell,
for what it's worth
you've tried everything
just to keep your eyelids closed
a little longer.
nothing's working,
you're not sleeping well.

in a moment,
it will all be gone in just a moment,
when the lights go out
on the edge of this black hole
that you call home.
it's a struggle
to prevent it from collapsing on itself,
to maintain any sense of self at all.
you don't want the things that help you,
it's no good if you're not hurting anymore,
as if someone's keeping score
of all the times that you've been happy.
and you try to patch the void,
pull the curtains close together,
wait till everyone is gone.
now it feels a bit more like it,
when it's dark
both on the inside and the outside
of the edge of this black hole
that you call home,
you're all alone.

it's a place you don't recognise anymore;
your mind,
the pathways, formerly known
as such and such,
you gave them names yourself,
you assigned tasks,
you decided their fate.
and now it's all different all of a sudden;
and now it's no longer familiar,
like a new suit
you've never once worn.
and you don't know what weapon to choose,
how to protect yourself
in this one-sided war
in your mind.
the trenches,
so dutifully dug out,
all prepared for the day you lose,
are gone,
and you don't recognise this place anymore.

things go missing,
lost somewhere between
then and now.
and the rest is history,
and all that you can do is try
to outrun the rising tide.
oh, to be carried away,
to be buried in your own garden.
if you cling to the things
you can't change,
that's the first mistake.
but the rest is already swallowed,
swept by the rising tide.
things go missing,
lost somewhere between
you and i,
reshaping history,
rewriting time
all the time.