I'm feeling a bit lost,
This is not my reality,
Is it yours?

I'm feeling, that
I gave up the best part of me,
But I'm feeling better.

I'm fragile, I'm alone,
I hate you,
Please come.

I'm hard to please and easy to make cry...
Did I say this loud?
(crying).

I am having a party tonight,
It will be just me,
And I'll be alright.

I'm having a perfect life,
Having been,
Having been dead inside.

I might be some illegal immigrant
From Slovenia,
For all I know.

I miss you so much,
I really miss talking to you
About me.

I'm longing for countryside,
In my dreams,
Which is strange.
As I was born in the countryside,
Where I still live,
I should be longing for something else,
But I'm not.

I'm missing my old nostalgia -
It was much better than the current one,
And no joy could ever make this even.

I'm not against any religion, but how many typos are we quoting centuries or millennia later?
But we believe, in God and nowadays in cuteness.

I'm not complicated,
I'm desperate.
Why?
It's complicated.

I'm not fat,
I just think too much,
And there are tasty things,
That help to think.

I'm not going back in time
To fetch you,
Hurry up.

I'm not good with people and other stuff.

I'm not looking for any meaning,
But art objects, when left alone,
Could get useful and do some vacuum cleaning.

I'm not sorry,
I'm not angry,
I'm just sleepy,
Dont touch me.

I'm not sure the trees are still dancing,
When it's freezing and nobody is outside.

I'm not tired anymore,
I'm now only slightly curious,
How much I can take it more.

I'm not trying to understand,
I'm trying to forget my previous understanding.

I'm ok,
I'm ok,
Just get through the day,
Just get through the day.

I'm ok with my social role,
But I'm wondering: on the whole,
Is it still my soul,
Or just a shabby street of converted warehouses?

I moved to different countries,
I went to different theatres,
I talked to different people,
I slept in different beds
(Sometimes with someone in them),
I still have the same problem,
With my mirror every morning.

I move the books along my table,
Till they are falling on the ground,
I like the sound.

I'm sad,
You are sad,
We are sad,
The rhyme is "sad",
Too.

I'm slightly frightened
By the developing story of my life,
But also getting curious.

I'm smiling in a darkness.
It has an undertone of something illegal and slightly *****.

I'm sorry,
For what I'm not.

I'm spending my life accepting things, that will never happen to me.

I'm taking different shapes,
Like an arc, I'm going through,
To discover the limits of shades.

I'm telling you,
I won't say anything.

I'm thinking about tomorrow
In a way that, I hope,
Tomorrow isn't thinking about me.

I'm trying to understand,
I'm trying to forget what I understood,
I'm trying to understand why I wanted to understand it,
I'm drinking alcohol,
I'm thinking,
I have doubts about my thinking,
I'm thinking about my doubts,
Exhausted, I fall asleep.

I'm trying to have the best friends,
Skipping friends as such.

I'm trying to smile.
You know, casually.
Only a genius can do it.
Or somebody slightly drunk, or anybody who doesn't really care.

And after all
We will succeed
And be rewarded
With a sleep.

I'm very special to me. Sometimes I want to disappear and be very strong in my own, very hidden corner.

I'm waiting for me,
I'm in the middle of a crowd,
And we all are waiting for me.

I'm waiting for you with bells,
Books and candles,
Just to make you wonder.

I'm waking up,
And new surfaces
Begin to glide
Into darkness of oceans.

I'm waking up in my bedroom and there's a strong oceanic wind,  blowing and bringing freshness. What a wonderful dream. But then, the bed is beginning to float and sink in a cold and salty water.

In a deep forest,
From the south side,
I will find you,
And I'll take your compass.

In a desert,
Every road
Is a road
Out of the desert.

In a few weeks
The first autumn rains
Will hit window pains.

In a huge arid desert there is a big call centre,
Where you call to return your Christmas gifts.
On the phone, the desert storms will sing to you in the hot air,
The unbearable heat will surround you,
Making you forget any stupid returns of gifts,
Which is kind of the point here.

In a rainy day, I'll get by with syllables,
But it will be a hard pillow to swallow.

In a relaxed way
I'll come to you,
And I will stay.

in a strange way,
things are getting interesting,
back to normal.

In being weird,
You more or less paid
Your duty to the society.

In cold blood, I am eating my sandwich.
You might wonder at such a choice of words, but than again, I always wanted to write thrillers. For the time being, I am stuck with my diary.