“Have you ever smelled regret?”
And my dream is to save people’s lives.
But how am I allowed to,
when I couldn’t save my own?
Why do sinners cry
after they have sinned?
Do they think every tear
aids them in their plead of mercy?
Can Reality be like a battery that’s placed within me, charging this pathetic life?
If I find the source, could I extract it and get rid off it?
Will I freeze so there’ll be no more pointless pain to endure?
Can I hammer it, burn it, or make it bleed? Payback.
Can I ask it Why?
And, do I wait for an answer?
What are intentions if actions do not mirror them?
I have never scarred myself
with razors and knives,
nor will I ever think of doing it.
I’ve been thinking about leaving burn marks.
After smoking my lifeless ciggies,
I could just stub them out on my body,
on the places that you have still not touched,
that are thirsty for you.
So if we ever meet,
let the burn marks guide you
to the places that have been longing for you.
But, then, will you still call me beautiful?
– With a body completely burnt.
People’s hearts are like windows.
You just need to look carefully.
Have they closed the windows completely?
Or have they left a small hole that they can peak from, hoping you’d make an effort and peak through it too?
Have they opened the shades, but closed the lights, making it difficult for you to see; a mystery?
Or have they opened the lights and are waiting for your next move?
Have they reached the next level where they’d open the windows for you, welcoming you and the wind and whatever comes along with you?
Are you looking closely?
What is my window like?