Too Much

Homeless and sometimes broken,
Enough and sometimes way too much,
Spirits as high as kites
And steps as heavy as my heart,
Everything keeps knocking me down
And lifting me back up,
Trying me, making me confess
The tears and fears,
The times I tried,
The ones I couldn’t,
The more where I shouldn’t have
And above all
The all too much of living.

Animal

I have a habit
where I love you so much,
I stare into your eyes
and they’re so deep,
and yet you never liked them,
and then I have another habit
of dreaming of you,
but loving me more,
and these two loves keep fighting each other,
and only one will win.

Wonderwall

Some time, all that will be left of me will be rain
and maybe wasted dreams,
wasted breaths,
but above all else
the smiles,
the tries,
the times it took for me to grow.
And some time, all that I am
will be enough,
and you’ll look at me and laugh,
because what else can you do
when I’m here with you?

Liquorice

More often than not I’m hurt,
suffering through broken toes,
biting my lips,
crippled spirit.
The most private thing I’m willing to admit
is that my love tastes like liquorice
combined with nasty bile
and it smells like lilies in full bloom.
Is there something else you’d like to know?
Or is the thought of me enough
to poison you?

Dreams

Some dreams I dream them wide awake
Looking for smiles in the darkest corners,
Carrying your memory with me
Across the seas and mountains
I keep in my heart your kindness,
Laughter,
Love and care,
You were my best friend,
The only one who cared for me even when I didn’t deserve it.

All Too Well

So many words are minced,
swallowed before being tasted,
and feelings are broken before being felt,
and nothing tastes like summer
even though there are 40 degrees outside,
no wind in sight,
no love in mind,
and can we pretend we’re independent now?
So many things are lost in between
breaths that mean nothing,
so many weird dreams are broken before we even close our eyes,
and so many sunrises start before midnight,
only to die down at 2 am
when nothing good ever happens,
but cold hands,
and the awkwardest of hugs.

Little Lemonade

I can’t get well,
Everything in me is so deeply,
Deliciously,
Fanatically disturbed,
And all this life tastes like stupid lemonade
Made out of fake plastic lemons
With spoonfuls of sugar
Made out of my blood.
And everything is dripping light,
Horrendous light piercing my eyes,
And all the sounds are trouble.
I wonder if I’ll sleep tonight
Or dream of you and cuddle
The monsters that live in my belly,
Trying to claw their way out of me.