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.

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.

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 of 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?

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 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 not my heart
inside your hands,
it's not the sky
that bleeds with rain.
it's not the tears
that fill a glass,
it's not the wine
that leaves a stain.
it's not my love
that lay so still
when you came home
the other day.
it's not the gaps
between the words
you didn't hear,
i couldn't say.
it's not the end
that makes it stop,
it's not the time
that takes the pain.
it's not the tears
that fill a glass,
it's not the wine
that leaves a stain.

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 want someone to hold me together,
i want someone to say it's alright.
i want someone to promise
that i won't be abandoned,
i want someone to stay,
help me get through the night.
i want someone to tell me i'm loved
for a million reasons,
i want someone to see i'm in pain,
let them rush to my side,
i want someone to know how it feels
when your mind is a prison.
i want someone to hold me together,
i want someone to keep me alive.
i want someone to wait down below
if i slip off the edge,
i want someone to bring me the keys
when i'm locked in a cage.
i want someone to help me get better,
i want someone to say it's alright,
i want someone to promise
that they'll stay by my side
through it all,
no matter what happens.
i want someone to care,
i want someone to want me,
i want someone to show me
what it's like to be loved.

i'm rewriting my past
and rebuilding my mind;
i've been killing myself
just to feel alive,
but it doesn't work anymore.
so i'm learning to dream,
and it's hard to believe,
but i don't really want to die.
i'm rewriting my past
and letting my fears go;
i've been killing myself
just to feel alive,
but that's not who i am
anymore.

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.

there are no compliments
without lies,
like there's no warmth
inside your eyes.
when every laughter's fake
and every smile is sad,
there is no joy in killing
what's already dead.
and if i tried too hard
to make you understand,
it's for a reason
that i can't explain.
and time adds up,
one day
upon another day,
an endless pile of misery
and discontinued hopes.
how i pretend
i've never truly felt alone,
how we erase the meaning
behind every word.
my mind is haunted,
there is no way out.
if you don't care that much
about what happens now,
there's nothing left to say,
there's no one else to call.
if you no longer want me,
could you let me go?

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.

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."

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, binded by the pain;
truth, but everyone's a liar;
passion, tangled in disdain,
burning in the holy fire.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

can you tell me
my love's worth?
is it as good as yours?
will it ever be enough
to keep you satisfied?
'cause i would break my wrists
and fold my bones,
and wrap my hopes
and dreams around them
with a little red bow
on top,
and fit it all in a box
with a wish and a promise
to always be by your side.
but can my love ever come close
to yours?
will it be enough
to keep you satisfied?

my sea is overflown,
my sea is empty.
the shores are made of ash,
where memories disappear,
where dreams decay and die.
my sea is what i am,
my sea is what you made me.
while every loss feels fresh
inside my mind,
i open up my wrists to start a flood,
i bleed the rivers dry to fill a tub,
i write a conversation for us both;
you're still alive,
i'll soon become a ghost.
my sea is set ablaze,
i'm running out of time.
although my heart is yours,
the sea is mine.

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.

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 don't believe we've met before,
it brings no pleasure to pretend.
i knew the person that you were,
but now i see there's nothing left
for you to say, for me to change,
like stitching holes inside a dream.
sometimes your home feels like a cage,
sometimes the silence sets you free.
i don't believe we've met before,
but every story has an end.
i loved the person that you were,
but now i know there's nothing left.

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.

i'm embraced by the tides
as they crash
and spill out of my veins.
i don't think that you're kind
just because you don't ask me
to leave.
i've been following lines,
tracing back
to the dreams that we chased.
i don't think that you're mine
just because you have taught me
to grieve.

and the cruelty's patient,
and the future's all run out of hope.
and it's harder to choose
your own death
than to do what you're told.
i handpicked all my demons
and cut out all my personal space.
i'm embraced by the tides
as they crash
and spill out of my veins.

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'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.

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 would never hurt you
on purpose,
but i'm not too good
at repenting,
hopelessly entranced
by this poison.
if you still can love me,
please,
love me.
but if you must hate me,
then hate me.

do you remember the person
that you were
five years ago?
ten years ago?
do you think they were better
at living your life?
would they hold your hand now
or push you off the edge
of your endless agony,
that all-consuming sadness
that's eating away at your mind?
would they take a picture
or just walk by?
do you still wish to go back,
catch up with all the lost time
and make things right?
you're the only version of yourself
that's available
right here and right now,
and did you ever consider
that it's for the best?
maybe past belongs in the past,
maybe you're happier without it.
everything looks more appealing
through the lens
of nostalgia,
but if you remember the person
that you were
five, ten years ago,
do you still think they were better
at living your life?
or are you finally ready
to make it yours?

whenever alone
i can't help but wonder
if i've ever been happy,
or maybe all of those moments
that vanished so easily,
sunken in the waters of time,
maybe they never existed.
because all i remember is sadness,
everything that aches,
every single mistake.
why is it only pain that lingers?
why won't the heartbreak
ever fade away?
i'm losing my grip on what's real,
can't tell truth from the lies
and right from wrong;
as soon as the moment is gone,
it feels like it never existed.
and i can't help but wonder,
whenever alone,
if i've ever been happy
or maybe none of it was real
to begin with,
just a trick of the mind.
maybe sadness is all there is,
all that has always been,
all that can ever be.

i've been living my life
like fulfilling a sentence.
i guess i've been waiting
for someone to save me,
but they never came around.
i have buried myself in the ground
while i was still breathing,
i have punished myself
for the lack of resilience,
i've torn my reflection to pieces
and tried to forget my own name.
i've been waiting for someone to say
that today is the day,
now you know what to do.
i've been wandering, lost,
confused and without a purpose.
i have wished for this life to end
when it left me so hopeless,
when i had no more faith
to hold on to;
i guess now it makes sense.
i've been living my life
like fulfilling a sentence,
so long i've been waiting
for someone to save me;
now i choose to save myself.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

i'm sorry if my love is such a burden,
i'm sorry if it's such a waste of time.
i'm sorry if my mind,
can't work the way you want it,
i'm sorry that i didn't learn to lie.
i'm sorry you were never truly mine,
i'm sorry that my heart
can't work the way you want it.
i'm sorry it was such a waste of time,
i'm sorry that my love was such a burden.

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.

i would take a pill
if it really helped,
i would take a handful
if it was the end.
i don't want to wake up
in an empty room,
i don't want to waste it
if it comes too soon.
i don't want to stay here
for another day,
i don't want to chase it
as it slips away.
i would take a pill
if it really helped,
i would take them all
if it was the end.

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.

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.

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.

when you knock on my door,
i will welcome you with open arms;
my long lost friend,
my dearest enemy,
my unwritten play in three acts.
my forgotten peace of mind,
the one i never learned to hate,
the one i'll always yearn for;
my oldest regret,
my most recent mistake.
when you knock on my door,
i will let you in, but won't let you stay;
the one i never asked for,
the one who always walks away.

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.

you don't have to fight,
there's no justice to be found,
it's all been spent on wars
they couldn't win.
and if you tear down the sky,
is it divinity you seek?
when there's no god above,
the ground shifts beneath your feet;
you take a leap of faith,
but faith is on a leave.
you don't have to give up,
but there's a truce in the works.
be careful choosing the side,
the war they've lost
is now yours.

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.

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.

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.