You feel so safe thinking you are in because there you are
waking up next to me, holding me close.
The truth is you are standing at the door of my soul and
even if you knock I am not opening.
Letting you in on everything inside of me would be
like showing you the way out. For the first time in my
life I am not ready to let you in or let you out.
Chaos can’t even describe the feelings surrounding you
in this messed up, heavy head burdening my shoulders.
I act in a way you’ll never figure out
how much I messed up and how messed up
Can’t you see how sincere the smile on my face is?
Can’t you feel the sarcasm in the previous statement?
I preach the truth, but I am a lie, an illusion,
a stranger to my own heart, my existence is a
foreign body on this planet.
But I don’t want you to leave so you will never know,
I will never reveal the secrets sheltered under my skin.
You have spent so much time on my mind
you should start paying rent.
It’s due, pay up. You took so much from me
it’s my turn now to be the taker.
When it comes to you I can’t even say that
the tables have turned because you’re
so insignificant that you aren’t at the table anymore.
You fell under it together with the curtain you
held over my eyes for months.
The snow is covering the hills in serenity
and the lost souls are leaving footprints in it.
They aren’t doing it to ruin the white peace,
they are doing it because they don’t want to
be forgotten. If they get more lost they hope
that someone will follow the prints and find them.
Is there a home waiting for them tonight?
A fire to keep them warm, another person to
warm their soul or are they just wandering around,
looking for something to keep them going tonight.
Maybe it will be a cigarette donated by a stranger
or the last drop of wine from the bottom of the cup.
The snowflakes are twisting and turning, making
love to the wind. Maybe that is the entertainment
the lost souls need tonight, let’s just hope it doesn’t
freeze them to the core, let’s hope they find a warm light.
I need one hell of a story.
One hell of a love story.
I need it to be wild, irresponsible,
I guess poets sometimes just can’t
settle for normal, settle for settling.
I don’t need it to be perfect, I need
it to be real in all of its flaws.
I need the screaming and the kissing
and the crying and the late night heavy breathing.
I need one hell of a story.
One hell of a love story to become my
ink, my inspiration, my new poem collection
because love without verses is such an ordinary
sad, sad feeling.
You are not a showdoll
You are not a museum display
You are a soul, not a body.
Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.
I knew the truth all along.
I came up with your lies instead of you,
I gave you the right moments to deceive me
just because I didn’t want to recognize there
was more than enough reason for me to
run far away from you.
I wanted you so badly I was ready to diminish my
worth just to keep you. No wonder I am scared to
let someone close to me. I’m still healing,
still trying to find a way to forgive myself.