i don't want to be loud,
so instead
i dig another hole
inside myself
and bury everything.
every tear,
every word unsaid,
every mistake,
every departure
and every arrival,
every belated goodbye,
every unwrapped present,
every argument
and every silent gaze,
every smile,
every embrace,
every warm touch,
every cold night.
i bury it all
as deep as i can,
out of sight,
and then i move on.
my body is not a temple,
but a haunted graveyard,
where bitterness grows,
where regrets bloom
in the dark.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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'll come back to you
from the ashes of our past,
from the terrible things that i've done,
from the sins i still need to atone for,
from the blood of your sacrifice,
from the steps of my broken home;
from the pain that i've caused,
from the darkness inside my heart,
from the madness that shattered my core,
from the wreckage of our past,
from the terrible things that i've done,
from the sins i still need to atone for.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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, bound 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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?