the things i've done,
they sank into my skin
and drew a crimson pattern
on the surface,
so when i die,
i want to die with purpose,
and cleanse away
this everlasting sin.

you were the brilliance of midnight sky,
the watercolours in the morning dew.
i know i promised i would make it right,
i know i said that i'd come back for you.

but there's a warning in the red and white,
it sounds like someone's gonna lose control.
and i don't think i'll make it home tonight,
no, i don't think i can survive this fall.

you were the sunlight, boastful in its pride,
the subtle shift before the darkness grew.
i'm sorry that i couldn't make it right,
i'm sorry that i can't come back for you.

a false promise of freedom to a captured man,
just like a cup of poison, filled up to the brim.
a note between the stones of all the walls we've built
and all all the walls they tore down just to fight again.
it's nothing like the light that breaks a peaceful dawn,
it's painted in the colours of a foreign flag.
and everything that burns takes us a lifetime back,
and everyone who died was not meant to be born.
acceptance isn't earned, it's but a weapon drawn
and aimed at those who dare to overstep the line.
a shattered cup of poison for a senseless crime
filled up by blood of every prisoner of war.

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 are a work of art, my dear.
a poem,
             prayer,
                         plea
                                and promise.
my greatest love, my biggest fear.
my soul,
              my sanity,
                               my sin.
my heaven, hell and purgatory.
my dear, you are my everything.

there's a letter, forgotten on the shelf.
to the unknown lover.
to the one i lost.
to the one i dreamed up on a sleepless night.
to the one who haunts me like a ghost.
to the one that never bothered to call.
to the one that simply wasn't right.
to the one i hurt.
to the one who broke my heart.
to the one who forgot.
to the one i imagined my future with.
to the one who slowly drifted apart.
to the one with the sweetest goodbye kiss.
to the one that i thought was the one.
there's a letter, forgotten on the shelf.
to the unknown lover.
to the one who left.

mornings are slipping away in a blur,
patterns of certain habitual sadness.
words with no meaning,
disease with no cure.
porcelain dolls, both lifeless and ageless.
haunted by visions, hidden in mirrors,
wrapped in despair, victims and sinners,
chasing the rush of the next final turn.
decades are slipping away in a blur.

i hope there's a place for us
in the end.
unwanted, unpleasant,
they feel so uneasy when we bring it up,
the horrors of death.
they want to forget,
they want to be safe in their bubbles
of blissful oblivion.
right.
should we say we're sorry
for being too loud,
too angry, too stubborn,
not willing to die without a struggle?
perhaps we're just making it all up.
well,
although it was mostly pretend,
we really appreciate
your concern.
thanks for nothing.
i hope there's a place for you, too,
in the end.

wait a moment, please.
should she feel sorry for being an inconvenience?
she'd rather plant the seeds of self-love
and wait for them to turn into trees,
sheltering her from poisonous bitterness,
nurturing her inner peace,
so that she can leave this world with ease,
letting time cover her steps with green and red,
letting the branches take shape of her silhouette.
someday this path might be found by someone else,
as unaware of her worth as she once was,
all out of strength, given up on all her hopes;
she'll follow whispers and slowly retrace the steps,
and take her shelter among the fallen leaves,
nurturing her inner peace.
wait a moment, please.
should she feel sorry for being an inconvenience?

approaching, appeasing
this beautiful ghost.
no, don't disappear,
i won't get too close.
i'm willing to spend
all my life standing still
with you by my side.
please, don't disappear.

a paradigm of solitude,
a monotone reprise.
she's desperate for a little break
to stop and shut her eyes.
a symphony of tragedy,
a prayer in disguise.
she walks her path so stoically,
but all their hymns are lies.
a disbelieving audience,
a concert of goodbyes.
she's desperate for a little break
to stop and shut her eyes.

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.

someday we will meet again,
but all this time in separation,
without you i no longer recognize
the person that i am.
it hurts so much to realize,
i got so used to seeing life
from your perspective.
but even though you're gone
and all that's left is pain,
i know someday we'll meet again.

madness is writing itself
in a spiral of thoughts
that vanish so quickly
before you could catch them,
before you could listen
to somebody else
but your own broken mind.
before every page
that you've written so far
is torn,
before you are, too,
crucified.
before every last ounce of hope
is forgotten and lost,
madness is writing itself
in a spiral of thoughts.

what does it feel like
to be seen?
for someone to long for you,
your creases and wrinkles,
the shape of your silhouette.
what does it feel like
to be adored?
from up close or from a distance,
hesitant and unsure,
that quiet, unspoken desire.
what does it feel like
to be known?
without sharing a word,
with nothing left to be said
out loud.
when everything that you do
is the epitome of beauty
in another's eyes,
is this what it feels like
to be loved?

...and every single day you're gone
hurts more.
i don't know what to do,
i've lost my purpose.
my name, when you don't say it,
is forgotten.
my face, when you don't look at it,
is blurred.
i couldn't recognize myself these days,
a shadow that protects your endless sleep.
i've hated you for years,
but now you haunt my dreams
and all my life's forever yours to keep.

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.

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.

everything goes if we just let it,
even our universe.
when the light at the edge of it dies out,
as if watching a guillotine strike down,
and a glimpse of a memory, elsewhere,
so far from all we've ever known,
feels like home.
but the dawn is already bleeding red
and the answers have all but disappeared,
and this fleeting moment is all we have
before the last shadow falls;
everything goes.

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.

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.

...and at the end
of the line
i'd still bend down for you,
bow my head for you,
break my neck for you,
rip my heart out of my chest
for you.
and even if i'm to die
at your hand,
i would do so willingly,
standing right in front of you.
i'd bleed out for you,
give my life to you,
stain my name for you,
for at the end of the line
all my love belongs to you.
you're the only one i want,
the only one i need,
the only one i see,
and for me
there can never be anyone else
but you.

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.

there, if you can see the end of the line,
where shadow and light intertwine,
we'll watch the birth of a short-lived twilight
before its life is consumed by the night.
we'll hold each other and watch the tide
as it approaches us from the horizon.
for what it's worth this life never felt quite right
without you carrying me through every storm,
without you catching me after every fall,
and it's my honour to love you this one last time.
we'll meet again, there, at the end of the line.

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.

he doesn't even realise it yet,
but holding her is but a momentary bliss
and being abandoned by her is torture.
despite already being caught in it,
he doesn't see the intricately spun web
or perhaps he doesn't mind it at all,
hanging by the thread of a a fleeting kiss.
she's fire and fury, barely contained,
a hurricane, disobeying the nature's orders,
an impossibility, endlessly defying itself,
and he doesn't even realise it yet,
but he's always been hers.

no sound.
when you're drowning there's nothing
but endless, unlimited space,
a bottomless vacuum of thought.
from water we come into the world;
its shallow, yet tight embrace
accompanies us till we're nothing
again.
no strings to be bound,
no sound
and no pain.

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.

for you i could admit
that love is real,
that heaven's closer
than i thought before.
and i could be
your most devout believer,
if i had you
i'd ask for nothing more.
for you i could abandon
all my vices
and settle down,
for once i saw you here
you made me lose my mind,
i couldn't take my eyes
off you,
and thought
"well, maybe love is real."

the world might end in the afternoon on an average tuesday,
anxiously re-reading a dozen messages without an answer.
when a broken photo frame becomes the last drop
and you find yourself unable to believe that superstitions are stupid
and the familiar ringing of the doorbell sounds like a death sentence.
despite the agony all there is to show is silent acceptance,
because their yesterday's sacrifice bought you another tomorrow
and you can only pray that in that moment they weren't alone.
although this emptiness inside of you feels like a death sentence,
the world ends every single day without anyone knowing.

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.

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.

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.

she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
slipping to the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
covering them in liquid gold.
she's the entity that the pagans prayed to,
the object of countless legends.
she slips into her skin like a hand-sewn dress,
and everyone who ever loved her
is now consumed by the earth.
she picks flowers that took root in their skulls,
wears a crown of white ribs
and grows around their remains like moss.
she's the end of all things,
the silent watcher of time,
meeting the travelers on every single one
of the countless roads.
she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
breaking through the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
standing by as the world around her burns.

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.

a paragraph, written a million times
doesn't remain the same cause the words
are constantly changing themselves,
and you are as well.
a fire that burns through the night
may seem bleak compared to the brightness
of a brand new sunrise,
but at the end of the day
it's not the amount of light that counts
but the strength to survive again.
and people are not some constructs
to be created and disassembled at whim.
they have their own voices
and their own incredible stories to tell,
and you do as well.

"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.

your image flickers in the dark,
you are so distant, yet so close.
i raise my hand to stroke your hair,
i try to hold this lifeless ghost,
but the illusion fades away
and leaves my loneliness exposed.
your image flickers in the dark,
you are so distant, yet so close.

heaven is a lonely place to die
even if it's called a paradise.
there must be a reason why
the ticket comes
with a warning in small font.
don't forget to say goodbye,
there will be no coming back
from this joyride.
take a step towards your dream.
is it just as sweet as you thought?
was it really worth your life?
i hope so.
heaven is a lonely place to die
even if it's called a paradise.
now that you're already here,
welcome home.

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.

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.

time doesn't slow down for a talk,
like the resting heartbeat
of a ticking bomb.
every pause could last days,
could last weeks,
could last years.
it could end with a shot,
it could break with a kiss.
like a memory, split in a billion pieces,
like a mountain, with all its valleys and creases,
like an enemy missile,
about to be dropped,
time doesn't slow down for a talk.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.