why don't you come home?
the bed is still warm,
it's waiting for you
like a sky before the storm.
as thunder breaks it in half
i hear you saying goodbye.
you disappeared in the night,
but still, i wish i knew why,
i can't stop thinking that today
you could be here.

i can't stand being alone,
the wind will sing us to sleep.
just know, wherever you are,
i'd put my life at your feet,
i'd give whatever you want,
feel free to take everything.
i won't survive through the night.
can't you come home one more time?
the rain feels cold in my hands,
i think it's saying goodbye.

there's defiance in youth,
but the world is too heavy to carry.
with exhaustion, binding your wrists,
disappointment, pinning you down;
that unmovable weight on your chest,
it only becomes harder the further you go.
the more you see, the less you believe.
faith is the most fragile currency of all,
and if you stay around long enough,
you can witness the untimely death
of every forgotten truth.
but even if our fight is over,
and all of our wars have been lost,
there's still hope for tomorrow,
there's still defiance in youth.

i made a mistake,
you showed me the way out
and cut the connection
by staying behind.
never was the one to cry,
never had a shoulder to cry on.
well, maybe that's why.
i made a mistake,
let you stay on the other side.
i'm sorry,
i'm sorry,
god, i'm so sorry.
should've said goodbye,
should've stopped you,
should've done something.
i don't know how to cry anymore,
no, not anymore.

i want to be moved by things,
even if they leave me empty
afterwards.
i want to be known
by someone who's brave enough
to dare and explore
the most profound depths
of my soul.
i want to always be seen as i am,
not as i was before;
that person is long gone.
i want to be loved like a sky on fire,
like a flood of devastation,
like a stolen kiss
before the end of the world.
i want to be moved by things,
even if there's nothing
but a lifeless desert
in their wake,
even if they leave me empty
afterwards.

maybe if i was funny
you'd like me more,
maybe if i was pretty
you'd finally want me.
should i be loud or quiet,
honest or lying,
laughing or crying;
what would you prefer?
maybe if i was
somebody else,
the worst or the best,
or nothing at all;
maybe if i was funny
you'd like me more.

it's a feeling that hits you
in the back
like the firmness
of a stranger's handshake.
it's you.
it was always going to be you.
cold fingers beg
for some warmth,
and knees melt
at the very thought
of letting this one go.
and the temples pulse
in unison,
synchronized heartbeat
of the drums.
it's a feeling that hides
around the corner,
like the drunken haziness
of your mind.
it's you.
it was always going to be you.

if he was so eager to get her,
he'd be there by now.
he'd run in the middle of streets,
throw himself under cars.
or maybe just hurry a bit;
not a casual stroll,
not a regular walk.
he certainly would've rushed there,
not to fight, but to talk.
he'd jump in a taxi
or catch the last train to her town.
if he was so eager to love her,
he'd already be there
by now.

do you know
when the party
begins to wear out,
when the laughters
don't burst as often,
and the fireworks
no longer ignite
in their eyes;
when the twilight
reminds of sunrise,
and their tongues
are too caught up
for talking?
when the clarity comes
with a bittersweet pill,
a prescription
from someone's pocket;
when the shatters of fun
are divided between,
when they lie
on the floor,
watch the couple
next door,
make some coffee
and make a scene;
when confetti
is covered in footprints
and balloons collect dust
in the corners,
and the fireworks
no longer explode
in their hearts;
do you know
when the party is over?

i'm running out of sugar
to sweeten this pill,
running out of breath
on this racetrack for two,
running so terribly late
for your love.
you've been hiding in mirrors,
and even if it was ordered by law
to forget you,
i'd still look for your ghost
on the passenger seats
of every car.
in good morning coffee
and sweet dreams wine,
you're in ripples,
flipping my boat
upside down.
i'm running out of time,
running out of breath
on this racetrack for two,
running so terribly late
to be loved
by you.

we got married in a small church
outside a big city,
a building that saw better times,
surely,
but got on the time's bad side.
we believed that love could save us,
that love would set us free;
and a few years later
woke up, like strangers,
on the separate sides
of one bed.
where did that love go?
when did it disappear?
one doesn't walk
into the same river twice,
but falls for the same flaws,
same vices.
we shared our vows in a small church
outside a big city,
naive,
wrote them with our hopes,
tied them with gold.
a few years later,
where did that love go?

it's been a pleasure knowing you,
the side of you that you chose to share.
it's not even a millionth part
of the universe inside of you,
but i've never gotten so close
to touching space.
every comet of thought,
rushing through the void of your mind,
every undiscovered constellation;
your depth was too vast to comprehend.
i will be forever grateful
for holding the space in my arms.
it's been a pleasure knowing you.

i feel like a fool
that you drove, blindfolded,
to a cliff in the middle of nowhere,
and asked
if i was going to step forward,
disappointed by my hesitation,
yet holding me back
with your cold hands.
and if i told you i knew
from the start
where we were going,
you'd probably leave me there
on my own.
but i feel like a fool,
a fool that loves you,
who'd take a long flight
over a short drive.
you asked
if i was going to step forward,
and the answer is
yes.

i can feel it
getting close.
empty bedrooms,
filled with ghosts,
hollow echoes,
bloodless wars;
every win
is someone's loss.
when it's torn,
i patch the holes.
when it screams,
i close the doors.
when it rains,
it always pours;
one last dance,
one hopeless cause.
i can feel it
getting close.

i have nothing
but what you gave me,
i've been living
the way you made me.
a collection of hopes and fears
that you put in my head.

i know nothing
but what you told me,
i've been living
the way you showed me.
please, don't be disappointed
by what i've become.

after all, it's not me
who chose this;
after all, it was you
who taught this.
everything that i've ever done
was to make you proud.
god, i hope
you're proud now.

i'm sleepwalking
through my youth,
touching things
that don't touch me back,
wanting people
that break my heart
long before
i can break theirs.
and i wish
i could just disappear,
wouldn't make
any difference at all,
'cause i'm wrong
in so many ways,
telling lies
to pretend i'm whole.
what's the point?
was there one that i missed?
lost the interest
halfway through,
turned to nothing
by half past noon.
i'm so sorry;
i've been sleepwalking
through my youth.

i didn't ask to join
this endless race
towards some abstract goal
that i don't even want
to achieve.
it wasn't mine to begin with,
yet here i am,
dying for it,
locked in a box
with just enough space
to breathe.
who would've thought
that this is what living
feels like?
who would've thought
that this is how we all
choose to spend
our time?
buried in our own homes,
opening more wounds
with each
passing day,
scratching down the walls,
helplessly gasping
for air,
empty on the inside.

love, don't you come
close
to the fire.
oh, can't you see
how it burns?
melting my skin
down to ash and bones;
can't you feel
the longing inside?
forget who you were,
come alive
with desire.
oh, can't you see
how it burns?
love, don't you come
close
to the fire.

if i step into the dark,
don't follow me.
and if i become the dark,
forget me.
for the dark isn't black,
but red,
and it's drowning me.
i won't let you go down
by my side.

i'll write a prayer
to the silence,
a final act
of my defiance.
when there is nothing
left to preach,
i'll leave the altar,
burn the speech.
i'll bleed my faith,
and on the steps
i'll face the crowd
to make amends;
stand on my knees,
accept it all,
and say a prayer
before the fall.

i have a yearning
in my bones,
a restless,
all-consuming
hunger
to be my own,
instead of yours,
to break the grip
that keeps me under.
and if the line
is drawn too close,
the lack of air
does make
me wonder.
it burns like fire
in my bones,
this restless,
all-consuming
hunger.

you said that i'm wasting my time
on things that don't matter.
well, i'd rather be wasteful
than lonely.
the road to self-preservation
takes a lifetime and a half,
but on my third attempt
i think i'm finally getting
the hang of it.
and instead of shrinking in size
after every unpleasant comment
that makes no difference at all,
i expand into every direction
until there's no room to grow,
then a little bit more
afterwards.
and wouldn't you like to know
what i'm about to become,
wouldn't you want
to see me now?
well, i'm sorry for wasting your time,
but i'd rather be wasteful
than spend it
on trying to please
you.

i am at peace,
it's all i need,
me and the ocean
at my feet.
and when there's endless,
there is free,
and true,
and hopeful,
and complete.
with no horizons
to outline,
eternal beauty
to explore.
beside the ocean
i will lie
and be at peace,
there's nothing more.

i think i might be dying,
one rejection at a time.
one compromise,
one vacant gaze,
one "yes, of course i'm fine."
i think i might be dying
and i really don't know why,
but every time i talk
it feels like bleeding out
my thoughts.
i think i might be dying,
one confession at a time,
or being a placeholder
for the love
of someone's life.
i think there's something
very wrong
with workings of my mind.
i think i might be dying.
i think i'm tired of trying,
one breakdown at a time.

she faded in people
that she had known,
vanished within them
without a trace.
and being asked
of who she's become,
she smiles and says
she no longer exists.
it's all of them
that carry her heart,
dispersed and shared,
but never replaced.
she faded in people
that she had loved,
vanished within them
without a trace.

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.

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.

i love you,
and the threads of passion
burn around my neck.
a fire that i can't put out,
a sin that i could never pray away.
i love you,
and it feels like a rising tide
inside my lungs,
but with my last remaining breath
i whisper it all the same.
i love you,
and i'm hopelessly locked between
midnight and sunrise.
a darkness that tempts me,
a light that won't let me be.
i love you,
and you're all i have left to want,
all that i ever wished for.
by the finish line, at the edge of the world,
you will be the first
and the last thing that i see.
i love you.

i'm not sad enough
to talk about it
with strangers,
not desperate enough
to take a step forward.
the rooftops are locked,
the bridges too crowded,
the pills, i've already taken enough
to have died a hundred times.
i think i'm immune now.
the whispers, they lie.
i'm stuck in a mirror,
i'm trapped in this life
that doesn't reflect who i am,
and it looks all the same
on the outside.
i'm not mad enough
to shatter my thoughts
on the pavement,
not desperate enough
to lie in the water
and watch it turn red.
the future is fading,
the past is uncertain,
don't know if i even
remember it right,
can't trust my own mind.
it's time to let go,
to stay or to say goodbye.
whatever i choose,
it all looks the same
on the outside.

don't know if it gets any better,
don't know if it gets any worse.
i've broken myself
just to be reassembled
in rumours and whispers
and false metaphors.
it's not who i am,
stop scratching the surface.
i'm buried behind
private property signs.
dissect all you want,
take things out of context,
just never apply them
to me.
i'm alright.
well, maybe not now,
but i certainly will be
as long as the public
can leave me alone.
i've pushed myself off
the edge,
but it clearly
was never enough,
you will always want more.
and now i don't know
if it gets any better,
and now i'm not sure
it can get any worse.
what's broken sometimes
shouldn't be reassembled,
this person you've made up
holds little resemblance.
it's not who i am,
it's not who i was.