This is the journal of the dead,
The one that reads of misery and plight.
Pain, sorrow, tears un-wiped.
Will, I read it? Yes, I might!

He smiled and laughed through the unhappiness received,
He probably forgot that eyes could deceive.

He drank champagne till his empty heart-filled,
His soul wasn't empty, filled with guilt.

His skin was embellished with cuts and scars,
His mind within him ripped him apart.

He walked till the end, till the edge of every cliff,
Through paths lit with fires and lanes filled with pyres.

He waited for long and lost everything coming along,
Broken pieces un-joint, falling way behind time.

He cried and wept through every coming night,
Till his face turned pale and tears were denied.

He had to depart with a smile on his face,
It was finally the end, of an unendurable phase.

This is the journal of the dead,
Of the one that cried, but never lied.
Of the one broken, yet the one who never broke.
Of the one that died, leaving all behind.

Dreams of other days by-gone or yet to come
surround my moment as careless whispers
Betraying my self reverence
in the end being is not always becoming
It's simply living what has already become

Please take back these shackles
I dont care if you lost the key
You restrained my freedom
because you believed it's easier
to deny than to let be

If you had seen me for me
how different our lives had become
Instead of hiding from what is
we would had valued what we are

You cannot imprison the heart for the crime of loving
you cannot imprison the mind for the crime of thinking
you cannot imprision the spirit for the crime of living

Please take back these shackles because
we are meant to be free not imprisioned in shame
We are meant to love not hindered by fear
We are meant to be not cast into the abyss
Because we are not nothing, we are something
and that something is the reason that we live

living in a bubble reflecting agaisnt tainted mirrors
was never really what one wanted for their presence
to be cast aside as something unwanted and undesired

what would it had ever cost to had said, I love you
to give value to the other reflection instead of indifference?
Its not the reason of the child to be the victim for being.

Looking for a reason that never comes, gives no resolution
only to know that one was looking in the wrong place
for to be valued by those that didn't understand what values

To not be mistaken for fools, we have to look within
and then reflect that beauty we find to our own reflection
because truly our beauty deserves to be expressed
as truly as the passion that lives within our own hearts.

How many times I stood there freezing in that cold room thinking that just maybe one of you would ask how I was or be interested

Then the seconds became minutes, days, and years
Yet my shadow still is standing there, waiting and waiting

I keep thinking, maybe it was something I did or didnt do
But all I get in response is the same lurking shadow waving
and it keeps waving and saying, don't worry someday they...

I imagine when that someday becomes today then my shadow
will come back and be by my side. And then the cold will finally
go away.

But when hope is only left to imagination then despair also is just an illusion.

So I only hope to not despair for my shadow, which refuses to stop waving, and hoping that one day you will come...

Temptation lingers in the mind that shivers
from the thought of liking too much the wager
of winning the game and then starting over
to once again face the possibility of failure

But perhaps failure was really the best option
because the loser never has to be bothered
by the constant threat of returning to battle
to prove who's better or still standing after

The idea to keep climbing an endless ladder
could make inspiration become less inspired
Does a title really mean anything to its bearer
When the one that bears it is no more the wiser?