You need one more day to get yourself together,
But one day turned into three
And three days turned into weeks.
And then you look back and you realize that you are further away than when you started.

You are scared that it will hurt so bad you won't be able to breathe,
And you are scared of turning out like your mother or your father,
So you can't stop the drinking, because for once it takes the guilt out of your mouth.
And you become so numb, that you can't feel anymore the way his wounds were absorbed by your skin until it suffocated you. 
So numb that you can't say your name.

But the truth is that you don't remember the last time you took a breath. 
And you already have turned out exactly like your mother and father,
And you don't know who you are anymore, because your name was one of those things that didnt matter.
So you don't really want stop the drinking, because for once it's 3am and you are not thinking, your eyes become so swollen from crying that they shut down and you finally can sleep.

But you say you need one more day to get yourself together,
And you promise yourself, again,  tomorrow will be better.

We have sank on the seesaw of the crossed wind

Words that flew omnipresently
With as much pain as damage

Each in their trench, huddled and clenching their fists waiting for the wind to cease.

His tears, notorious by their turquoise hue of the Mediterranean coast.

His beauty was such, all the rainbows celebrated his existence.

Every morning in his company was a sip of the freshest Elixir.

The sun touches the corners of your small balcony window.
Only a few minutes of the day you feel the rays touching your skin.

The few other hours you skip between screens. Alternating between lives you haven't lived.

Hurt people hurt people,
And I've been hurting for way too long

so tell me
when the lights burn low and the music fades
do you still like who you’ve become?

Last night it rained petrol, it started pouring.

The rain merged into a senseless storm, and somber water and omen drops slowly trickled down the wrinkled silken sheets that Mom never ironed, but always loved.

The drops fit perfectly through all the cracks in the broken roof,
that Dad never fixed but promised he would, and black mist began to fill the rooms.

The storm was brute and merciless, and it soon came knocking at the door. Thick air tainted the bottom of the mossy walls,
where Sister knew she shouldn't, but still painted purple dinosaurs.

The asphyxiating wind ran fast across the narrow corridors,
it took pieces of the broken family portraits that Brother sang to on his ever first encounter with alcohol.

Petrol fell endlessly for days, thunders echoed on the dense raindrops, and the whims of the winds covered the desperate whispers to make it stop.

---Neighbour's house always had sun, and Mother and Father and Sister and Brother years ago had moved to another town

And sitting there was I, watching as the petrol poured down---