Maybe happier

Turn, turn, turn. Turn myself inside out. Pull apart like a house, brick by brick. Bone by bone. 

Feel, feel, feel. Have to feel something. A life, a blood going through my veins. Drop by drop. 

Hear, hear, hear. Hear this loud song throbbing through my brain. Know every word, hear how silence stops. Note by note.

Be, be, be. Be who I am. Not someone they want me to be. Alone, but true to who I am. Day by day.

W E A R E N O W

I feel your breath on my shoulder. Slowly you walk up my waist and stop. Lean in for a kiss on my neck.  Whisper a word or two. Our desires take us over.
I pin you to the wall and kiss you like I haven't kissed in a while. Let my hands be all over you while we slowly fall down on floor. Our desires take us over.
Other time, it's just a game between us. A game I wanna play.

Leave

It's all fake. And I can't seem to find a way out.
None off this exist, none of this is real.
Reality is a myth, creation of our imagination.
If only someone would point me the way out.

Why are we not

Is this all we are living for?

One

Within the dark, dark night, let myself sink in to it. I let my tears rush down my cheeks.  But only in the darkest night, while the rest are sleeping and can't see me at my weakest. My only wish is to be taken away from all the pain. To disappear in to nothingness that I am, become a ghost that noone knows is there.
A tear here and there, I brush it away. Hide it back where it belongs. Hide all the thoughts and dreams. Hide myself.
Face the reality only when I'm strong again. Am I really? Am I ever strong enough to deal with myself for another day?

Let it

They come and go

And I stay

Just like that

They open and close

And I stop

Just like that

They stay and run away

And I am

Just like that

They come and go

And

I 

Can't

Just like that

Goodnight

 There’s passion, or there’s nothing. And I want the type that drips down your back and soaks the sheets. The kind that makes you lose sleep, and late for work in the morning. The type of passion she still feels between her legs the next day. Passion that begins in one room, and ends on the floor of another. I’m talking about the kind that pins down wrists, and demands eye contact. Passion that makes her body quiver, and her legs tremble. I mean passion that’s so seductive that she would never dream of looking for it from someone else. That’s so uninhibited, intimate, and full of handfuls of hair, or hips, or their neck, or ankles, and makes you wish they had more hands. But they don’t. And it’s more than enough. And when you finish, you’re finished. And you know, in between those short breaths and messy hair, there’s passion. Or there’s nothing. 

J. Raymond

Pretty dresses
Dolls
Smiles and kisses
World of wonder
Luck and fun
Yet there was one between them
The one with broken eyes
And scratches
With a dress -
Not good enough for this occasion
Few tears on cheeks
And quiet dreams
The doll that was never held
There were hopes in her
For misery to end
In tiny pieces she would break
But through all the games
And playful rush
Of her existence noone knew
Silently she stayed
While noone cared
Of a girl
Behind them all
With patches

“If no one cares for you at all, do you even really exist?” 

Cassandra Clare