Love is a strange thing.
It makes you do stupid things; unspeakable things.
Worst of all, it gives you hope.
Or more accurately, false hope.
For nineteen years, I sat alone in my room, thinking I was loved.
Maybe what caused the delusion is my success; all the trophies I achieved, all the certificates I received.
But definitely not the diseases.
Definitely not the flaws.
Have you ever sat down and thought what was going on in my mind?
Sure, you'd say you knew everything what's going in my head but do you really?
Do you know how many times I've stabbed myself in the throat in my mind?
Do you know how many times I've tied a noose around my neck?
Do you know how many times I've strangled each and every one of you to death?
No, I don't want to **** you.
I don't want to hate you.
I just want to be loved. I just want to be loved for who I am.
I just want to feel at home at home.
I just want to feel safe.
Being at home is like walking through a haunted mansion with trap doors.
You don't know when you'll trigger a trap that'll shoot tiny darts right into your heart.
As a child, I always wanted to be a superhero; I'd pretend that my life is an origin story of a superhero.
But as it turns out, it's the story of how a hopeful boy turned into a madman who tried to burn the world down.
Yes, I'm a freak, I know that pretty **** well and I don't need you to remind me that.
Do you know how hard it is to just walk straight in public thinking everyone is staring at you?
I just want a sanctuary where I dont have to worry about what people might think of me.
If home is really where the heart is,
Then I dont really have a home.

I have a little black book
Inside are names
Names of those I know
Some I love
Some I onced loved
Some I came to despise
Every time I open the book
It makes me sad
Most of these names
I haven't spoken to in years
Some I barely remember
Sometimes I add new names
Not as often as I used to
And every time I do
A light shines inside
Before being extinguished
Once again
As I close my little black book
A little black book full of me

i’m too busy
thinking about why it doesn’t matter
to wonder if it should.
everyone else seems to be skilled
in the art of leaving
i never was skilled in the art
of being left behind.

i wouldn’t expect a post card
if i were you.
don’t worry
i’ll try my best to miss you
at some point.

and then I asked you,
"What's your biggest fear?"

you gave me a quivering sigh,
looked at me straight in the eyes
and said,

"It's that eventually, you will see me
the way I see myself."

Pour your heart out
And I'll collect it in a cup
Pour you're heart out
And I'll dissect it when you're done
Pour your heart out
and I'll heal it
As we talk...

forgive me
but i still think of him
while you hold me