اگزیستانسیال

every day i look forward to sleeping. i love sleeping, i love being unconscious and unalive for a little while.

to be clueless as a child and to not having a single purpose in adulthood.

he doesn't deserve this, as i didn't deserve it, and as my future wouldn't.

if i could see him, i would let him drank his magical drink he used to make when he was in the bathroom.

it's about me and the younger me. we both didn't have a clue about what we were supposed to do back then, as well we don't have it now either.

i may be sort of crazy, but there was once upon a time when i could look in the mirror without feeling the guilt crushing me into thousands of pieces.

let me hear you make decisions without your television, let me hear you speaking just for me, let me hear you crying just for me.

take my hand, come back to the land where everything's ours for a few hours.

metropolis has nothing on this. you're breathing in fumes, i taste when we kiss.

when OCD catches me being happy and reminds me that i'm an irredeemable monster who doesn't deserve to enjoy anything bc of something bad i did 3 years ago.

let it turn to ashes and dance in the wind and build a home in my eyes, i need new excuses for my tears anyway.

you will always come back unless you destroy the bridges, fucking burn them to the ground and never look back.

you can try to heal, but you can never forget the path you took to heal, for the path itself is the wound.

i'm not sick. in fact, i am the sickness.

and as my final act of love i will become an illness and spread my sickness through you so you can feel how i felt.