The one who would understand me is equally shy to start a conversation.
A stranger lies behind my eyes, I know not what he wants; sells me dreams, tells me tales, then with the truth, he haunts.
A stranger lies behind my eyes, I know not what he wants; sells me dreams, tells me tales, and with the truth, he then haunts.
If poetry is an escape into the woods, then music is the journey back home.
Tall buildings have always intimidated me, but I somehow feel comforted, by an even taller tree.
Through these uncharted roads, I hope to escape my recollections; I am so tired of seeing signboards, and following the same directions.
Dust sleeping on your bookshelf and all your plants are drying out you are too busy to save yourself is your mind heading for burnout? Coffee rings on your bedside table anxiety pills under your pillowcase working round the clock to foot the bill is there no time for breakfast these days? Friends haven't seen you in a while your phone is always out of reach you're slowly forgetting how to smile is your silence a figure of speech? Life can sometimes seem to be unfair but hoping is better than you think send the message in a bottle if you dare is it so hard to not force yourself to sink?
