Idea of love:
We sabotage ourselves in the hopes of something that doesn't truly exist, but is an idea that's more of a delusion, "love".
We merely live the life, that's supposed to be lived, just because we find solace in this idea and hence, we are hollow souls with regrets.
Beauty:
If I am to write about beauty, I'll write about plucked roses, dead butterflies, scratched nail paints and broken hearts. Do you know why? Because that's what beauty was. And we couldn't stand it. We couldn't tolerate it. And thus we killed it. We destroyed it.
Heaven:
Too often she was told that she is a pessimist. That there's so much darkness she plays with and she lets negativity nurture in her bleak world. But was it true? Even a part of it? Maybe the former part was. But not the latter one. After all, her whole life revolved around making heaven out of others' hell, even though her own world was an inferno.
She was told that she should stop existing in the world where others were non existent. But what good did existing in the world where everyone existed bring her apart from trains of sorrows and woes?
Escape:
Yearning,
an escape,
from this cavern,
of woe and misery,
to a place,
where the sky is,
not dark,
but not too bright,
with fog as a periphery,
with no birds chirping,
but also, no gloom.
Cold:
The cold inside me just outdid the cold outside. Now I know what blue is.
Tweets:
You were a part of my existence that I hadn't discovered.
You were a part of my existence I was not supposed to keep.
You could turn nightmares into dream.
But now,
You are my nightmare.
The world wasn't our enemy.
Our love was.
I've lost you only to find myself.
Let's play, like old days.
You be my candle, and I'll be a moth.
I wish I was strong enough to see blood.
Hurting you would have been my favorite game then.
We sabotage ourselves in the hopes of something that doesn't truly exist, but is an idea that's more of a delusion, "love".
We merely live the life, that's supposed to be lived, just because we find solace in this idea and hence, we are hollow souls with regrets.
Beauty:
If I am to write about beauty, I'll write about plucked roses, dead butterflies, scratched nail paints and broken hearts. Do you know why? Because that's what beauty was. And we couldn't stand it. We couldn't tolerate it. And thus we killed it. We destroyed it.
Heaven:
Too often she was told that she is a pessimist. That there's so much darkness she plays with and she lets negativity nurture in her bleak world. But was it true? Even a part of it? Maybe the former part was. But not the latter one. After all, her whole life revolved around making heaven out of others' hell, even though her own world was an inferno.
She was told that she should stop existing in the world where others were non existent. But what good did existing in the world where everyone existed bring her apart from trains of sorrows and woes?
Escape:
Yearning,
an escape,
from this cavern,
of woe and misery,
to a place,
where the sky is,
not dark,
but not too bright,
with fog as a periphery,
with no birds chirping,
but also, no gloom.
Cold:
The cold inside me just outdid the cold outside. Now I know what blue is.
Tweets:
You were a part of my existence that I hadn't discovered.
You were a part of my existence I was not supposed to keep.
You could turn nightmares into dream.
But now,
You are my nightmare.
The world wasn't our enemy.
Our love was.
I've lost you only to find myself.
Let's play, like old days.
You be my candle, and I'll be a moth.
I wish I was strong enough to see blood.
Hurting you would have been my favorite game then.
