searching for a temporary fixation
that could fix your life,
you don't lack in the dedication department,
but your focus is scattered
and your effort's half-hearted.
and you want to get out of here so badly,
stuck in a loop of endless quotations,
but your mind's been underperforming lately,
sending out "save the date" invitations
to a preemptive memorial service.
that grave's been waiting around for a purpose
ever since the first final warning.
you're not stalling, just weighing your options,
looking convincing in that little black lie.
maybe calling it quits is your calling,
doubling down on the hibernation mode,
half-awake around half past five,
searching for a temporary fixation
that could fix your life.

placing bets on a misplaced hope,
filling lungs with denial,
watching it turn into smoke.
it's a poisonous kind of co-dependency,
drowning out the smell of decay
by lighting scented candles.

you can't stop it from spreading further
from your chest to your throat,
so you increase the dosage.
if you go, you'll go on a high note,
filling lungs with denial,
watching it turn to smoke.

they took the light of your soul
and then put it out.
they said that it wasn't on purpose,
but you are the one
who's fading with every night,
the shadows are creeping inside,
it's harder to tell the time
when there's no sun in sight.

they said you don't have much to offer,
an empty vessel for their god.
they stole the light of your soul
just so they could put it out.

call me when it's over,
i'd rather not watch it all from the start.
rewind to the credits,
make sure to read every single name out loud.

keep the tape rolling,
there might be a hidden message or two.
my mind is unstable,
but the state of it's got nothing to do with you.

so call me when it's over,
i've seen it a million times inside my head.
rewind to the credits,
read the names and remember that most of them are dead.

those who seek flame see fires everywhere,
one's lifebuoy's but an anchor to the sinking.
where there's a fear of dark, there's fear of blinking,
for even momentary blindness makes you lose the way.

so many things were tempered with to always keep us scared,
on edge and waiting for the blade to drop when we're not thinking.
one's lifebuoy's but an anchor to the sinking,
those who seek flame see fires everywhere.

it gets better with time.
it gets easier to interrupt the chain reaction,
to stop following down the rabbit hole
of every first subconscious reaction
that triggers a well-tried response.
and if you don't give up on trying
the hope might just carry you through
and across the finish line.
what you have been suffering from
doesn't define you,
but it does get better with time.

it's not the kind of place
one wishes to return to,
its welcoming embrace
is made to suffocate.
i wish i could stray from
the path that leads me to it,
but it took everything,
it even claimed my name.
and now i've grown to hate it,
the sound of being seen;
shame makes a perfect rope
to hang my self-esteem.
the memories come in pairs,
but always black and white;
i know that place's a trap,
yet i still crawl inside.
now there is all this pain
preventing my escape,
it whispers "welcome back,
it's time to suffocate."

we write our stories with unsteady hands,
our fingers stained in ink from all the errors,
a silent witness to our hopes and terrors,
it will remember when the world forgets.

and if we make it through to tell the tale,
our voice may linger, but the words will perish,
so we disclose all of our hopes and terrors,
be it in darkness or the light of day.

anonymous or public, foes or friends,
bound, bruised and battling your inner devils,
you'll see yourselves in our hopes and terrors,
preserved in stories, written by our hands.

they'll give it a name,
but a name doesn't mean
they'll take it more seriously
now that it has a place
in the common vocabulary.
it's still something
they don't understand,
since they can't relate
to battling the heaviness
just to stay present,
they don't know the weight
of staying awake.
now they put it on screens,
they promote it commercially,
mass-produced relief.
it still doesn't equal acceptance,
and just being able to live
shouldn't need to be paid for.
they give it a name,
but a name doesn't mean
they're no longer afraid to say it.
though it has its own place
in the vocabulary,
the victims remain unseen.

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.

i am lost.
this emptiness can't be
all there is to it.
one's hope is just as fragile
as the proof of something better
awaiting once you're done
with getting stronger.
i don't know if i am strong enough yet.
i'm not sure if i've been through enough yet.
is my suffering too little
in comparison to others
who experienced more pain,
more grief, more loss, more desperation?
am i just a broken vessel
for someone's misplaced affection?
is this emptiness all that i can create?
if it's really all there's to it
i would rather know for sure
than be constantly misled
by a non-existent cause.
i am lost.

we carry our memories like they're a burden,
unspoken, but hopeful that someone, someday
might be brave enough to take a step forward
and share in that weight of invisible pain.
and all that we hold, like a prayer to the broken,
so lonely that silence falls down like a veil,
are hearts, torn and scarred, but bleeding no longer,
in hope that someone might accept them someday.

some of the best things we create
are meant for others to explore.
we grow too fast, we learn too late,
we leave before the curtain call.
and in the end all that we've made
turns into words, engraved in stone.
some of the best things we create
will only matter once we're gone.

i take my heart and put it in the ground,
i feed it ash, and dust, and desperation,
and everything's that still remains untouched
by hurricanes, and fires, and floods, and earthquakes
of what must be a lifetime's worth of heartbreaks;
i wouldn't know, i've already lost count.
i took my heart and put it in the ground.

the phenomenon of phantom pain
in limbs that aren't there anymore,
but still itch, still cramp and still ache;
just a memory of a memory, coming apart
with every impossible move that is made.
like a blind man, traversing through the dark,
feeling his way by touch, by sound, by smell
through the endlessly changing world,
guided by his memory, coming apart,
longing for things that aren't there anymore;
the phenomenon of a phantom heart.

i see visions of various
lives that were mine
in a different place,
at a different time.
and i hear conversations
with friends from elsewhere,
but they aren't here now,
so i wish i was there.
and i know it's just signs
of me losing my mind,
but it's such a small price
if they make me feel loved.
i can barely hold back
from letting it loose
to consume me completely,
since there ain't much to lose.
all i have is a dream
of not wanting to die
in a different place,
at a different time.

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.

you take,
and you take,
and you take;
anything to fill the void,
anything to keep it going,
and it's always just one more.
you take pills,
you take hearts,
you take memories of those
who weren't fortunate enough
'cause in comparison it seems
that you are better than this,
but you know how much it hurts,
you know exactly how it feels.
so you lie,
and you lie,
and you lie;
with your tearstains on the pillow,
that's no way to live a life.
but there's nothing left of you,
you took it all to fill the void,
so now you have to keep it going
and you swear it's just one more.

talk to me.
i've had enough of this silence.
i've never felt so alone in my life,
i've never seen a darkness so deep.
who knew that emptiness could be so heavy;
i suppose, i owe you an apology.
please.
if every next word could be final,
if every next touch could be the last time,
i hope that i see you when i fall asleep.
who knew that even a sinner's worth saving;
i guess, we're about to find out.
if i wait for you at the brink
will you talk to me?

it's deafening to the point
of your own heartbeat
crashing against your eardrums,
a wasp nest inside your head
buzzing incessantly,
stepping into the spotlight
that you try to deny it,
but it pushes you into the dark instead.
it's maddening to the point
of no longer being able
to separate your own voice
from the crowd.
it's so ******* loud,
spreading, feeding off of your fear,
and you know, deep down,
that someday it just might win.

"it was never about love."
those were your last words
before walking out of the same door
that i swore to keep closed ever since.
it was never about wanting more,
nor was it about not getting enough from me,
but i somehow still think it's my fault.
in the end, what difference would it make
if there was someone else to take the blame?
as you managed to put into words so well,
we were merely two people, stuck together,
pretending to be a pair,
and now that's all i can think about.
it was never about love.

breaking into another's memory, fleeting,
escaping through someone else's eyes,
like a tower of separate fragments and pieces,
tumbling down before it can ever rise.
and the victory lap isn't sweet, but drunken,
and everyone stumbles around in a daze,
'cause it seems like we've only just gotten started,
but it's already time to be replaced.
someone says "that's life for you, darling,
with its highs and lows, with its frowns and smiles",
and it seems like we're all just a memory, fleeting,
escaping through someone else's eyes.

there's an echo of voices still talking downstairs,
conversations and laughter, pouring out through the doorway.
everything's temporary, in the right time and place
our meetings and partings all tell the same story.
in a moment of sadness there's a sweet aftertaste,
everything has its end, everyone must keep going.
there's an echo of voices still talking downstairs,
always waiting for someone to step through the doorway.

you might meet someone,
be it the darkest night
or the first bright sunlight
of the rest of your life.
and they will look at you
like you're the only one they see,
not knowing that a part of you
still wishes you were here, with me,
be it the burning depths of hell
or the paradise beyond;
they'll never know you quite as well,
it's not their touch for which you yearn,
but i can't take you,
this space was always made for one,
although i loved you,
there's nothing more i could've done.
so i hope you meet someone,
be it in the midst of night
or on the brink of the first sunlight
of the rest of your life.

fame is a double-edged sword,
the greatest of earthly temptations;
if you are the one they adore,
you're also the one that they hate on.
you change so they wouldn't get bored,
but they always run out of patience;
it happens too quick, it takes you too long,
it makes you look weak, yet somehow too strong,
and all that you give them, no matter how real,
they'll deem it a cheap imitation
and say it's a shame
that you've fallen so low.
can't say that you haven't been warned;
fame is a double-edged sword.

a raging storm can sing a lullaby
to those, whose hearts are caught up
in the fire.
the last pursuit before they learn to fly
away, but then they'd rather keep
on trying
to be destroyed by something more
than them; oh, what a view it paints,
that burning sky.
there is no after as there's no before
for those, whose souls are not afraid
to die.

the dawn stands witness of a brand new day
and mourns, so solemn in its silent cry.
the winds keep vigil at their shallow grave
and raging storms sing them a lullaby.

what love may give
love shall take all the same,
the joy it brings is fleeting and uncertain.
a stolen kiss behind the heavy curtain
and every breath is on the precipice.
the one who yearns must yearn forever more,
the one who dares must learn to throw the game.
when bodies touch it's there to keep the score;
what love may give
love shall take all the same.

i see blood,
i see it everywhere now:
falling from the sky,
splattered on the ground.
i see blood of those
who don't have a home,
not because it's lost,
but because it's torn.
i see crimson tears,
i see scarlet streets.
they might sympathise,
they might speak of peace,
but if there's no justice,
then there is no god.
when i close my eyes
all i see is blood.

she said it's magic that we even met
in this day and age;
out of sight, out of mind.
and she pulled me apart, thread by thread,
and made something new,
something she could've liked
if it wasn't so easy to have me.
she craves excitement,
she'd rather be kept on her toes.
guess i made myself too available;
joke's on me - i though that's how love works.
she said it's magic that we ever crossed paths
in this great big world
where everyone's lost.
and she smiled so sweetly as she pulled me apart,
thread by thread,
every bit of my flesh and bones.
but it was just too easy to have me,
she'd rather get her poison
straight from the source.
guess i made myself too available;
joke's on me - i thought that's how love works.

there's a sea
on the other side of this dream,
you will meet yourself
there, on the shore.
she might say
"you're so much braver than me,
'cause, you see,
you've made it here on your own."
she could hold your hand
or hold back a laugh
when the waves catch you off guard
as they break.
there's a life
on the other side of this dream
to welcome you back
once you're awake.

always happy, always in bloom,
always one step away from becoming
just a collection of parts;
her head still smiling and pretty
rolling across the floor.
sorry, did i break the illusion too soon?
not so beautiful now that you know
what it feels like to be her.
makes you wish the flashes would stop,
makes you want to scream
"can't you see she's already done enough?"
why can't they set her free?
but alas,
she must always be happy,
always in bloom,
always one breath away from becoming
just a collection of parts.

you say it's just who you are
and if i love you so,
i should be able to accept it,
i should be able to dissect
my own feelings,
pour some acid
and watch them dissolve.
but you see, love,
it's not true though,
and every little sacrifice
makes me diminish in your eyes,
as if it ever was a valid
reference point.
i refuse to be appraised,
i don't accept being sold.
let go of my hand.
guess what? life ain't fair.
so take your overpriced baggage,
all your emotional damage,
and **** it up.
it might sound cruel,
but if you want to be a grown-up
you should stop playing the fool.
no kiss goodbye,
no sweet farewell,
i guess you'll never get to learn
that this is who i really am.

it's always something, isn't it?
something that was once yours,
something that they took
and then convinced you
that it never really existed.
it was something important, you think.
something that you gave up,
something that wasn't even worth keeping;
anyway, that's what they told you.
"surely, you will be better without it, sweetie."
now that you forgot your own shape
wherever you look - it's all the same,
a convenient fixture to cover a lie.
but does that brief ache every time you smile
ever make you wonder
what that something was?
something that once
used to be yours.

you have it,
the most beautiful.
most envied,
most divine,
and even in a room
that's filled with lookalikes
you'll always be the most,
the most, the most -
a priceless treasure.
and maybe it's okay
to only be alive
through other people's eyes,
but someone's always lurking
just outside the frame -
a new obsession, waiting to be found.
most envied,
yet most hated.
there you have it,
the most unloved.

what hurts the most
is the unbearable duplicity of it all.
i wonder how long you were going to pretend
once you'd changed your mind,
once i'd become too difficult for you to adore;
i guess developing a personality
outside of your own thoughts
was a huge turn-off.
you must've hoped that love had done a better job
at clouding my judgement right before that last fight.
well, self-awareness truly is a double-edged sword;
i found myself but i lost
the last ounce of compassion
towards your ever so unimaginative lies.
now that it's time to reap the fruits of our labour
every bite gets stuck like a lump inside my throat.
but darling, just so you know,
what hurt me the most
was the unbearable duplicity of it all.

it takes two for a happy ending, but only one for a heartbreak,
and it's the guilty party that always seems so sad.
but every consequence could be avoided altogether
if he wasn't so careless about the people allowed to share his bed.
and it's a story for the ages, the one that everyone falls for.
fool her once - shame on her,
fool her twice - shame on everyone that he's slept with,
'cause he's never the one to blame.
for all the warnings and the red flags - there were none of those at all.
he said the right things and asked the right questions,
and now she can't help but wonder if there was something she missed,
she cannot stop thinking about all the others he kissed right after they'd kissed.
to love is to trust someone blindly, but it might take a very long time
for her to trust anyone again, not to mention a man.
it takes two for a happy ending, but only one for the end.

i used to love you but i don't know
if love's supposed to hurt this much.
and when you leave i try to stall you,
but lately it feels like a crutch,
and if i want to learn to walk alone
i have to let it go.
i have to let you go,
but you are wrapped just like a noose
around my throat.
i thought it was a rope to guide me,
now i know it's just a waste of time.
and all those years you have defined me,
now i can finally find out
how many of those fears were actually mine.
you're losing ground, you're out of touch,
and no, it definitely wasn't
supposed to hurt this much.
i think i've had enough for a lifetime.
i used to love you but i'm done.
figure it out.

a tragedy in miniature,
nothing but a puppet, being strung along.
when is a home no longer a home?
now that you're gone i might never know.
such an impossible creature,
and for a moment there i almost believed you
that we were gonna settle down and grow old.
now i'm the only one that's getting older.
making a note for the future;
it fades so quickly, like forgetting an old song.
your voice, your smell, your laugh -
now all of it's gone.
and i would willingly give up
the rest of my days,
filled by nothing but loneliness,
if it would give me another chance to hold you.