ideals, built on misconceptions,
an oath, extended by the fall.
between destruction and obsession,
this world could never made you whole.

and as you move in wrong directions,
one expectation at a time,
you come to see their true intentions
and every lie between the lines.

the endless strife towards perfection,
it barely mattered much at all.
between destruction and obsession,
this world could never make you whole.

one let down after another,
i'll dig out my own
eternal peace.
and if you want to help,
please,
just give me a hand
or leave me alone.
i'll willingly surrender,
lay my youth to waste,
put it, piece by piece,
on the doorstep
of every single place
that i've ever been
kicked out of.
and i can't slow down,
because if i do,
when the time comes
i will not be able
to let myself go.
one small tragedy after another,
an unwritten letter
with a goodbye kiss.
and if you want to help,
please,
just put an end to it
or leave me alone.

we're all made of regrets
and sharp edges,
dancing alone in the dark.
what a disgrace it is to know
that we're never truly happy
unless we're being betrayed
by someone we love.
and someone we loved
was a sinner,
and all that we want
is a drink and a bullet
to swallow.
whatever the weapon of choice,
the means don't mean much
as long as the end
is the same.
this life might just be a mistake
or a shared disappointment,
a high with an endless low.
and what a relief it is to know
that we weren't meant
to be happy,
all made of scars on our wrists
and sharp edges,
dancing alone in the dark.

her smile has a sharp edge,
like a knife through his chest.
and the cut's getting deeper
as he tries to get closer,
but she keeps him
at an arm's length.

there's a chance of falling apart,
but instead he's falling in love.
the more she draws back,
the more sacrifices he makes
to be worthy of her grace,
to finally conquer her heart.

her laughter has no end,
like a sunset wrapped mist.
and the fog is getting thicker
as he tries not to get lost,
as he never wants to be found,
dying to stay like this.
chained with weightless ropes,
always by her side,
when the torture is most welcome
and the suffering is pure bliss.

passion, tangled in disdain;
dreams, collapsing in desire;
nightmares, every one's the same,
burning in the holy fire.

lovers, bleeding at the cross;
arms, connected by a whisper;
visions, pulling them so close
as he draws the veil to kiss her.

couples, stumbling down the stairs;
vows, to be engraved in marble.
where he goes, there's always death;
where she goes, there's always trouble.

promise, bound by the pain;
truth, but everyone's a liar;
passion, tangled in disdain,
burning in the holy fire.

i'll put some flowers on your grave
and watch the moss grow from your bones.
sometimes it's easier to stay,
you always lived the life you chose.
you always left without goodbyes
and thought that less was saying more.
i wish to join you when i die,
but you won't wait for me, i'm sure.
and if you've already moved on,
i'll write a poem in your name,
and watch the moss grow from your bones
when i put flowers on your grave.

it's the art of being ****** up,
the testament to sleepless nights,
reading horror stories in the attic,
and almost falling down the stairs
a few times.

it's a promise to never forget
what it feels like to be alone in the dark
at 4 am stealing moonlight kisses
through distorted reflections
of a window glass.

it's a moment to moment race
towards the end that's never the end,
but a beginning of a different life,
and the life that you choose for yourself
never really dies.

it's the art of being ****** up,
the testament to sleepless nights,
talking to ghosts in the attic,
and almost falling down the stairs
a few times.