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.

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.

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'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.

i would love to tell you
that it gets easier,
that we won't be here forever,
that i can fix
this broken world,
find all the pieces,
put them back together,
and make it work.
i can't make it work.

i don't sleep these days,
their faces haunt my thoughts.
i can't find a way out;
my heart is still,
my blood is cold.
but even if we're in hell,
at least we're trapped here
together.
how i would love to tell you
that it gets easier,
but you know it too well;
some nightmares can last
forever.

there is peace to be found in stillness,
watching life play out from a distance
like a belated guest that joined halfway through,
like none of this pain belongs to you
and you could stand up and walk away
anytime if you wished to.
when you see yourself on the screen, does it move you?
do you want to step in and interrupt it,
knowing exactly what's going to happen?
of course, you can always edit it later
before it gets sent to storage,
before you decide which one you like better.
for you are the viewer and the director,
making commentary on your own lack of skill;
an omnipotent deity, if you will.
now that's a comparison you could get behind,
but it's all taking place inside of your mind
and the next scene's coming up soon.
it's a shame you've missed on so much of the plot
worrying about small mistakes.
now you know that nobody else seems to care,
so just take a seat and enjoy the view
like none of those fears belong to you,
watching life reveal itself in the distance.
there is hope to be found in stillness.

the sun is only there
to keep us warm,
but should it die
we still can save each other.
and if the cord
that's holding us
is torn,
we'll find another.

the wreckage of our world,
it dreams of stars,
but as we bring them close,
they push us farther.
and if this sun
should die
before our eyes,
we'll find another.

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 don't want to be seen,
feel my touch on your cheek;
i don't want to be seen at all,
but the razors are sharp
and the curtains are drawn.
i don't want to be seen
lying down on the floor.
if you hold me, i'll break,
if you kiss me, i'll know;
but the panic runs through,
spinning out of control.
i don't want to be seen,
but my thoughts drown in ink
and the pages are torn.
i don't want to be seen,
feel my touch on your cheek;
i don't want to be seen at all.

you can't stop hearing it,
that signal, being transmitted
on all channels,
filling those frequencies to the brim.
not a single gap in between
for your own voice;
too quiet for others to notice,
loud enough to make you paranoid.
what if they know it's there,
but would rather pretend
for the sake of not getting involved
with another basket case?
what if there's no one else?
what if you made them up
so that you wouldn't feel as lonely?
the ups and downs of laughter,
interrupted by helpless sobs.
there might be someone out there,
but all you hear is noise;
too distant for others to notice,
too intrusive for you to ignore.
transmitted on all channels,
not a single pause in between
for your own voice
sending out a distress message,
wondering if anyone knows
you're still here.

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.

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.

i wasn't meant to love you,
and it can't be changed
by altering ourselves,
it's something else entirely.
i don't think i was made
to fill the void inside you,
wasn't designed to become
your own personal saint.
whatever you seek,
there's no absolution
to be found on my lips,
no matter how much
you want it;
there's no peace in my arms,
no future and no past
to reminisce through.
i'm sorry, but it's true;
i'm not the one you need,
i wasn't meant to love you.

do you still feel my touch
or can i only leave bruises now?
if i'm the one to choose our death,
then you're the one to keep the vow.
when this love becomes too much,
if we live on as ghosts
will our bond be stronger
than it was before?
if i'm the one who let us down,
then you're the one who closed the door.

all of your insults
and all accusations
have one little fault;
it's reckless of you
to assume
that i'm still alive,
that i haven't bled out
years and years ago.
can't you see
there's a hole
where a heart
should've been?
none of your words
can hurt me
if i'm already
dead and gone;
dead and gone,
and you don't even notice.
go ahead, cut me open,
if it makes
any difference,
just to see
what i'm made of.
but all of your insults
and all accusations
have one little fault;
it's reckless of you
to assume
that i'm still alive.

if you want to go,
go out of the front door,
cause i'd rather be shot
in the chest
than bleed out with a knife
in my back.
there's a vacant space
between my ribs,
where my heart used to be,
but it's such an odd shape
that nothing fits in,
except for you,
but you've already found
a different place
to build a home.
so if you want to go,
go out of the front door,
cause i'd rather face
my demise
than be caught off guard.
and when i look at death,
she might have your eyes,
but at least this way
i will know for sure.

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.

why don't you ever
say it as it is?
pull down the curtains,
let the light shine through.
why don't you close your eyes,
why don't you break the kiss,
why don't you read my lips,
why don't you?
call from a different life,
tell me how good it feels,
that you just realized
there wasn't much to miss
without me by your side,
not very hard at all.
it must be pretty great,
but what do i really know?
why don't you ever
say it as it is?
pull down the curtains,
let the light shine through.
why don't you wake me up,
why don't you make up your mind,
why don't you break my heart?
why don't you?

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.

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.

it doesn't sound as terrifying
if you split it into
a million deaths,
a million lives, lost individually.
we're wasting our humanity
on empty background noise.
we're forced to lock our gates,
avert our eyes,
pay mortgage with our souls.
it doesn't seem quite as finite
if you just take your pills
and track your progress,
while they wash all the blood
off of the hands
that hold our future hostage.
a million deaths,
a million possibilities,
surrendered individually.

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.

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 woke up this morning
nostalgic for something
that never was,
but you kissed me once in a dream
and i can't stop thinking about it.
if false comfort is all that i have now,
i'll trade it for just one more chance
to be yours.
don't want to wake up every morning
nostalgic for something
that never was.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

you don't mind it if it hurts,
as long the medicine takes over
at the right time.
you don't want to die,
but you often wonder
what it would be like to try.
living in reverse,
with every step forward
you just make it worse,
de-escalating and digressing
at an equal pace.
one more for the list of errors,
pin it on the board,
watch yourself lose another race.
you don't mind the shame,
but you loathe the side of you
that it brings out.
you don't want to drown,
but you often wonder
what it would feel like to be gone.

there are no greetings,
no farewells,
they cross the line
and leave unnoticed.
a solemn choir of silenced voices
repeating an outdated prayer.
there is no god to hear them out,
their hope is but an empty promise.
they find their rest
in nameless graves
and die the way they lived,
unnoticed.

there's an anchor weighing me down.
it won't let me change the course,
but it also won't let me drown.
it makes sure that the water stagnates
as rust compromises the fuel tanks.
losing buoyancy at a rising rate,
somehow staying afloat just to spite me.
i should find the leak and ignite it,
i should let someone else decide now,
but i've been patching holes in the hull.
some would call it a waste of time,
i guess i'm not ready to drown yet.

watching the trains rush by,
reaching for a stranger's hand
to keep your balance,
checking if your mind is still intact.
did something happen last night?
you know it was loud and suffocating,
you were out of breath, self-medicating,
catching the residual smoke
from someone else's exhales.
you don't feel like being called out
for every little invasion you suppressed,
so you take a step forward;
the platform is almost empty at this hour.
grasping at another passenger's clothes,
up the moving steps, counting blocks,
you'll be back to try again
another time.
wondering if someone might catch you,
watching the trains rush by.

there's no crime that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.
if you've something to say against it,
then you're plotting an insurrection.
then no matter how loud you're screaming
at those giving their lives to get drafted,
you're a traitor that stands on the front lines
while the patriots watch from a distance.
every word can be framed as a slogan,
every question's a sign of resistance.
as the crowd splits in different directions,
there's no evil that can't be presented
as some kind of heroic action.