"... lonely."

I can't take this lonliness anymore,
but neither can I make it stop.
I'm not strong enough.

"... hurting."

Forgive me for being so cold at times,
for acting as if I do not care and do not want you in my life.
I do not want you to get hurt,
that's my reason for doing it.
I do not want to hurt myself either.

"... sick."

Feeling sick all the time,
no desire to eat or sociolize,
but still wanting it all,
to be with friends and lead
a good life,
without these unecessary feelings
and must do's.
Let me get rid of this sickness,
let me have a life that is not

"... pointless."

It feels so... So utterly pointless to dream, and wish for things that you can never have. What is the point, when you have a life to live?

"... no longer going home."

The place that you called home
might no longer be,
the place where you felt safe
is no longer here...

"... dialogue."

"How does it feel?"
"What- I- What are you on about?"
"I know."
"K-know what?"
"About you... You and her."
"Please, say something. Just... Something."
"It's none of your bloody business. Now fuck off."

"... the after taste."

Bitter in taste,
dark in colour
I gulp down the
black coffee,
the hot liquid
burning down my throat.

A throaty laugh,
a swirl of smoke
rising from the
tears trailing black
marks down my cheeks.

"God, how messed up
can you become?"
Leaning my head against
the table,
heavy from the headache
and drinking,
hours of no sleep.

"Oh how I wish
I could turn back time,
and go back to the start."

"... losing life."

The memories of what has been, all of those scars that will never fade; there was a time that I wished they would all disappear, that it would be better to feel nothing at all.

But waking up to an empty world is not as good as I thought it would be.

"... dreams of love."

I dream, oh yes I dream,
of walks in the moonlight
and confessions of love;
dream of being with someone
forever and hold them tight,
be with them always.

This is one of many dreams
that may not be granted to me.

"... most days."

When will the empty feeling go away?
Food, exercise, sleep; nothing helps.
As time goes, it becomes worse, and some days,
the pain won't leave at all.
One second is enough, and too much.
Weeks at an end is unbeareble.

Some days it is easier,
and I always ask myself; is this the day,
the day when I will finally heal from the past
and walk towards the future,
a place brighter than anything else?

Messed up.

And then there is only blackness.

"... not in control."

You feel weak. You cannot control the pain, you have no control of your own life. You just let some unvisible cord pull you forward, hardly even conscious of your surroundings.
You try to scream for help, but the words die on your tongue as you sink further down, knowing that no one really cares. They may say they do, but deep down they don't. For what is the point in caring for someone who is already broken? Someone who cannot be repaired, and feel light without being overwhelmed by the dark.
Has my past shaped my future?
Don't I have a say in this, after all, it is
my life.

"... is this a broken heart?"

My heart,
I wore it on my sleeve
for anyone to see,
not imagining how it would hurt,
oh how it would hurt.

These tears,
I can't seem to make them stop,
they keep trickling down my face,
their saltiness sharp against my
sore cheeks.

Never could I have thought,
that these would turn out to be
one of those days,
when nothing seemed to go right
and the whole world would be
against you.

The pain is fresh,
as if the wound was wrought
not yesterday,
but this day,
only hours old if even that,
and it throbs,
loose skin flapping and it stings,
and badly so.

These feelings,
these thoughts running through my mind,
they all seem so real,
as if I could reach out with my hand
and touch them,
feel solid objects against my skin.

Is it my imagination,
or is it really happening?
But surely,
heart break shouldn't be this
Surely you should be able to
draw a line between this pain
and "real" pain?

Why does it feel as if someone
has struck a knife through my heart,
tearing and pulling,
until only a single thread holds the organ

One thread,
enough to keep me alive,
painfully aware of the throbbing
that seems so real as it dwells within me,
within my chest,
in my heart.

Is this... Is this real?

"... how I ought to be."

There is someone who I ought to be,
someone with neither fault nor flaws,
a person who is the picture of perfection,
'cause it feels as if that would be the only
way for others to accept me,
who I am and what I will be.

"... it is your name that I call."

Calling your name
in the middle of the night,
hoping you will be near.

Watching the stars,
wondering exactly where
you are,
and if you can hear,
hear my voice, calling your name.

Do you know,
how I long to be you near,
hold you tight and never
let go?

So long I have stood here,
holding onto the memory
of you and I,
holding on as I call your name,
wanting you near once more.

Calling your name
in the middle of the night,
hoping you will be near.

So long I have waited
for you to return,
only to have been left out
in the dark with no one to
lean on.

"... truths and lies."

Sometimes when I lie,
and it has been growing
for a while,
even I cannot tell it apart
from the truth that
I hide.

"... vilken lögn."

Man försöker, om och om igen att skriva bort allt det onda, dem där känslorna man hellre lever utan men de har klistrat sig fast i din själ, och hur du än sliter och rycker vägrar de lossna.
Man fortsätter leva, och man tror att känslorna ska avta, att man ska växa sig stark nog för att det ska göra mindre ont.

Vilken lögn det känns som, när man hör någon säga; "Med tiden läks alla sår".

"... hade varit okej."

Du säger att det inte spelar någon roll,
att jag är vacker oavsett hur jag ser ut,
men ändå förväntar du dig att sminket
ska sitta perfekt,
att kläderna ska dölja alla mina skavanker.

Det skulle vara okej av dig att förvänta dig,
om du bara hade sagt sanningen,
att du vill att jag ska spackla ansiktet
och finna de mest smickrande kläderna,
jag skulle vara okej med det
om bara du hade sagt sanningen,
berättat redan från början vad du vill.

Varför du, varför inte resten?

Det finns alltid en tid i ditt liv då du inte är på topp, du mår skit och önskar du bara kunde sjunka igenom golvet, gräva ner dig i marken och aldrig mer resa på dig igen.
Hur ska du orka med livet, frågar du dig själv, om det är såhär du ska känna dig? Kommer det någonsin att bli bättre, den här smärtan du bär inom dig, ångesten som väller upp och bubblar inom dig tills dammen spricker?
Tårarna rinner nerför dina kinder, och inte för första gången frågar du dig om det bara är du som känner såhär, att alla andra är lyckliga förutom du?
Eller om de är starkare än dig, för de lyckas dölja sina ärr från resten av världen medan dina känslor svämmar över och du kan inte kontrollera den otroliga svärtan som alltid svävar över dig som ett moln redo att sluka dig.
Hur kommer det sig att bara du är svag nog att aldrig kunna dölja, aldrig kunna vara glad och leva livet istället för att leva kvar i det förflutna, där din personlighet fick ett slag, där din självkänsla blev trampad och krossad i tusen bitar?

"... changes."

Everything changes,
at some point in life,
but that does not mean
that I like it,
rather I would say that
I abhor every change,
'cause they make me realize
how attached I've become
to things that would've been
better left alone.

"... selfish."

You were always there,
for me to lean on
when things got rough,
when nothing seemed
to go right.
Your shoulder was there
for me to lay my head on,
and your warmth brought
me away from the cold.
Your hands steadied me
when I was about to fall
and your arms embraced
me when I was near Death.

How come you knew exactly
what I needed,
but I knew nothing of you?

"... what am I doing?"

Every day I struggle to breathe,
fight to keep myself from falling
and I no longer know what I am
meant to be doing,
what my purpose in life is.

"... darkness within."

There I stand,
holding the candle
with my pale hands
as I venture further
into the dark,
where the monsters lie,
and where I cannot find
my way out.

What am I to do,
while swallowed up by
this small room,
where all my nightmares
became true and every
dream shattered like the
broken mirror that I face
every day?

This darkness that surrounds,
and that swallows me up,
what am I to do,
to hide,
hide from it and claw my way out?

Please help me,
I would like to shout,
if it were not for the cloth over
my mouth,
and this suffocating darkness,
that surrounds me and embraces me.

What am I to do with this darkness,
that really has no other place
to stay than within this room
that is my mind?

What if the candle burns up,
and I do not have the light to
bring me warmth?

What am I to do,
with this darkness inside?

"... you did not stay."

One question asked,
"Will you stay until the end?"
and all I wanted was
for you to tell me the truth.

"Yes, I will."
You answered and I believed
that you would never lie,
that you would not want me to hurt.

You did not stay. You did not show up at all.
What a fool I was to believe you.

I cried for you. But now I think I might be ready to move on.

"... not always enough."

Being strong is not always enough, because if you do not have the guts to walk forward and to face what is out there, then what does it matter, if you have the strength to defeat the darkness?

"... how cruel isn't fate?"

They were always together,
but in the end that didn't matter at all.
Their lives may have been intertwined in more ways than one,
but when it really mattered,
when they really needed each other,
fate decided to take the other one and leave one behind.

"... here for you."

You can't fight it, can you?
But let me tell you something;
you don't have to,
'cause I am here to help you.
You don't have to carry the
heavy load,
because I am taking half of it,
and letting you rest.

"... in the books."

Every story seems to have that happy ending, that one true love and no heart ache in the end. The bad times simply vanish into nothing and the tears have long since faded for good.
Why can't life be like that too?

"... before it's too late."

I have gotten better at showing of that fake smile and push aside the pain that always lingers. But sometimes it all becomes too overwhelming and I just want someone to hug me and tell everything is going to be alright; even if it is a lie.
I want someone to notice that I can barely stand on my own two feet, and that I am not strong enough to carry on like I do everyday for so much longer.
That I will soon crumble, not able to take it anymore and just fall deeper into the darkness, be swallowed by the shadows.
Could someone please notice before it is too late?

"... denna existens."

Vad förslags existens du än lever
så har du ett liv,
du andas och du har ett hjärta
som slår.

Vare sig du är ung eller gammal,
kriminal eller oskyldig
så har du givits en kropp att ta
hand om,
ett liv att leva.

Du kanske inte rår för hur ditt
liv ser ut,
kanske var den tid innan det här
och du inte visste hur man annars
än att utföra dessa dåd som anses
som får andra att titta på dig med
hånfulla läppar och äcklade ögon.

Eller så har du alltid ett leende
på dina läppar,
lycka i ditt hjärta när du passerar
dina medmänniskor,
och du skrattar åt allting,
har ingenting som tynger dig ner,
bara lycka finns i ditt liv.

Vare sig du har ett svårt liv
eller ett lätt,
ett liv någonstans mittemellan,
så är det ett liv,
som ska vårdas och som ska
tills det är dags att inte längre
och blad för blad flyga bort
med vinden.

"... blodet jag bär."

Vassa nålar stryker
igenom luften,
smeker mina armar
drar det blod jag
inte vill ha.

Mina ögon stirrar
stint på det röda
som flyter,
droppar ner runt
mina fötter och
jag undrar varför
det är så heligt för
medan jag bara
kan titta på medan
det flöder ut ur min

Jag känner mig svagare
för var minut,
mina fingrar söker sig
till de sår jag har,
men jag försöker inte stoppa
flödet av blod
som forsar ut.

Vad ska jag med det till,
när jag inte ens uppskattar
det som givits till mig?
Blod, vem behöver det,
när man inte vill leva?

"... not around."

When I am alive,
these words matter not,
but if I were to die,
would you start

"... thrown in."

Not even the coldest water thrown at me can awaken me from this nightmare that I constantly live in.

"... not enough."

"Why won't you look at me?"
I ask,
my lips forming a pout as I
look away.
My heart is pounding deep
within my chest,
the echo of its drumming
loud in my ears.

"Please, for just one second,
look my way."
I cry,
fisting my hands by my sides
as I try not to let the tears
those salty water-drops that
burn behind my lids,
and obscurs you from view.

"Am I that hideous?"
I whisper,
licking my dry lips as I
turn away,
determined not to let you see
my tears,
see the pain that dwells within.

I could've been the one to guide you
away from the darkness you live in,
but I guess I was not enough.

"... these shadows within and around."

Whenever I try to stand,
whenever I try to live,
I end up dancing in the pits
of darkness that always
hangs around me,
the shadows that await the
moment they can swallow
me whole.

When will these shadows
be broken by light?

"... live another day."

When there only seems to be
when the world seems to be
drenched in darkness,
how do you keep from tumbling
how do you keep on being strong
enough to live another day?

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