when the time comes
i want my story to be told
from a place of love,
i want to to know
that there was someone
somewhere
who gave a ****,
even if just a little bit.
please don't twist my words,
don't turn my intentions
into long-term plans,
'cause there is nothing long-term
about the way
somebody's life ends.
i used to have a vision
but at some point
i made a decision to try my luck,
so when the time comes
my only hope is
that my story is told by someone
who gives a ****.

hold the door,
it's past ten on the clock.
hold your words,
cause i've been here before
more than once
and i know all you're going to say.
we'll keep trying again and again
until someone says stop.
i don't want that for us.

close the blinds,
it's past ten on the clock.
close your eyes,
cause i've been here before
more than once
and i know how it goes from here.
we'll keep trying and trying
till all of the warmth
between us disappears,
leaving nothing but cold mistrust.

i don't want that for us,
so i'll take my leave first.
after all, it always ends where it starts.
love, don't you recall?
i've already been here before
more than once.

late conversations,
drinking wine from a cup,
and every word you say
sounds like giving up.
but you're somehow still here,
both dying to leave.
you don't know how you feel,
but it's time to come clean.

it was going so well
back when you were still friends,
but it just wasn't meant
to grow into romance.
and now you're tipsy and sad,
so tired and confused,
and every sentence you say
sounds like trying to lose.

just let it end,
for the sake of who you were
and what it meant,
although it doesn't anymore.
just let it fade away,
don't linger for a kiss goodbye.
you know it's time
to let love die.

they've all become so desensitized,
drinking their coffee and watching people die.
and some part of the world
preaches values of kindness and peace,
but the weapons they've sold
are used every day to take lives of kids.
and they don't see the irony
of protecting borders, from what exactly?
when even survivors are getting tired,
when there's no hell deeper down, yet we still continue descending,
when every next morning comes with a list of names, lost to the fire,
they all would rather pretend it's a fiction,
                         a story,
                                       a lie,
drinking their coffee and watching people die.

the last thing that you keep is regret;
all the times it went wrong,
all the times they were upset with you.
you hear the words of your friends,
how they wanted to make it,
but all those explanations
are way past their expiration date.
and you don't want to hear it right now,
you're just fine being here,
all alone in your house.
and there's nothing that needs being said;
make a promise to self,
even when life gets sad,
the last thing that you keep is regret.

follow the memory lane,
right to the corner where it ended the last time.
you were so young you don't remember
if anybody else was there
when a part of you was left behind to die.
though the rest of it is history now,
you will always carry it inside you, living out your days
unafraid of what would happen if anyone found out,
'cause you've survived through something so much worse
than judgement-driven shame
at the corner of the memory lane.

the rain will stop someday,
although there might be floods,
that subsequent collateral damage
that lives in all of us.
and all that we've survived
persists in deserts, running dry;
some water could be what we need
to bring them back to life.
it's hard to turn the page
just as it's hard to start anew,
and every time someone says "no"
we still hear "not for you".
but when the currents change
their flow will wash away the pain.
although there might be floods,
the rain must surely stop someday.