it's a beautiful sentiment,
loving someone
who doesn't love you back,
indulging this perfect lie.
a kaleidoscope of doubt
swirling in my head,
day after day
and night after night.
whenever you're away
i can't help but imagine
somebody else by your side.
it's an intricate ritual,
saying what you want
to hear,
laughing at your jokes,
fading into background
when you're near
and dying when you're gone.
i wish i knew how to quit,
gather my things
and walk out of the door.
sometimes i wonder
why i keep doing this
to myself,
but there isn't one answer
when love
is endlessly bound
with pain,
and hurting myself
is the only way
to ensure
your return.
it's a beautiful sentiment,
loving someone
who doesn't love you back,
faithfully waiting by the door,
day after day
and night after night,
indulging this perfect lie.

they're all the same.
always asking
the same questions,
wondering if you're okay,
terrified of hearing the truth.
how are you supposed to explain
that you take the pills,
and you do the talking,
and you try so hard
just to keep the waves
from crashing ashore,
but it just doesn't work
anymore?
is it too late to choose
the opposite door?
will they let you give up?

god, it's always the same.
answering the same questions,
digging holes in your skin,
a crawling that never stops,
an itch that cuts through the bone.
and when you're alone,
forever and ever,
it's such a dreadfully long time.
is it too late to surrender,
walk away from the fight?
if living no longer makes you
feel alive,
is it time to quit?
will they let you give up?

i'm a little older now,
a little less naive.
there used to be
more colour
to my dreams,
but now there's just
a residue
of chances that i missed,
forever lost in time.

i'm a little smarter now,
a little less surprised
when people leave;
no heartbreaks,
no goodbyes.
and now i'm just
collecting lies
from strangers that i kissed,
one sparkle at a time.

i'm a little older now,
a little less naive.
sometimes i see
their faces
in my dreams,
but now they're just
a residue,
a taste upon my lips,
forever lost in time.

i've been trying
for a very long time,
but i cannot catch you.
always three steps behind,
close enough to watch,
but too far away
to wrap my arms around you
and never let go.
your shadow rests on my chest,
your smell slips through my fingers,
i'm surrounded by all the things
that you so desperately clung on to,
except for one thing
that i need the most.
somewhere between desperation
and make-believe,
i have found a way
to make myself whole,
but it's just a trick for the mind,
not good enough
to fool the soul.
and i've been giving in
and giving up,
and giving it my all,
but you don't ever look back,
never offer me a chance to follow.
this chase is getting the best of me,
but i still can't catch you,
as well as stop
and finally let you go.
always three steps behind,
close enough to watch,
but too far away
to save you from the fall.

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.