Growing old in a feeling of tight Suffocated air, something that squeezes you so much that you can barely breathe, all of my words are the same like a musical box that won't shut up. All of it's strings are fractured and it just makes this awful broken Sound

we grew old in this bed, we lye here in a pure sadness holding hands and whispering secrets in to each others ears
ones that haven't been told before

monitoring the moments, the silence

makenosense makesense
These pills make you feel absolutely numb, so fragile and still.
Some times i can't even remember if i've taken a breath in the last hour
it's good though, to feel nothing at all, i'm like a space cadet
or a special kind of human with super powers
who can turn on and off at anytime that it pleases.

it covers most of the pain up like a band aid on a bloody knee.
you can walk down a street and feel nothing at all
drag your fingers accross the bricks on the walls and avoid getting hurt
the people who pass you will always walk in slow motion
like a movie that's meant to make you feel spaced out or something.
I guess watching those beatings on your mother when your a child gives you some sort of brain damage that finds a spot in your head and just hides there until you feel sad enough to think about it all again.
it feels like a bomb has just reached it's peek and in that split second you know everthing is over for the next two hours and everyone you speak will hurt more than the last.

feeling fragile like porcelain waiting for the gloom to fade, waiting to tumble into another world a little less dull, waiting to escape this city, waiting for the moon to drag me through the stars and galaxys, waiting for the floor boards to crack, waiting for the sadness to eat itself up, waiting for these walls to fall apart, waiting for the mess to clean itself, waiting ..waiting, waiting. awaiting these endless seconds, waiting for him to blow holes in my brain until i cannot think another thought.

staring at the speck's of dust that come out of the projector at the cinema, being more fascinated at that then what's on the big screen, i'll sit for two hours thinking up story's about other galaxy's

You can never holiday because your always stuck with yourself
and crawling out of this mood is a fucking battle field
you want to explode every time you speak
every word you say & every thought you think
is from a fairytale book which has been perfectly written
inside your head
and pretending is the only thing your good at