There are times when you walk in circles of roses,
And feel nothing but thorns all over the place.
In such times, you fail to notice the bud before it closes,
But you advance, despite leaving a blood-stained trace.
You fight, and fight until you have no energy left;
You worsen the chaos because you still try to give it a sense.
It's all torn apart now, the time spent living feels like theft...
Now you're sour, you're addicted to what leaves you tense.
It's hard, I know, but it doesn't have to be this way
Because fighting against Charybdis doesn't lead anywhere.
Keep fighting against it, you will suffer until your last May.
But once you accept it, you'll start breathing fresh air.
Samsara is Nirvana, you just need to look close...
That's how you start to notice both flowers and thorns of a rose.
2. Flatline
In the brightest of days, who would notice if I died right there
Or disappeared as if I'd never been at all?
A mouse, a grasshopper, or maybe even a hare
Might mourn for a day such a silent fall.
Sometimes, all I wish for is a flatline:
An end to my thoughts' loudness, and all my nightmares.
I could also drown; the water is too saline.
I could have a mythical exit... but who dares?
You only need a parachute if you want to skydive twice in a row,
Otherwise, your chalk outline awaits on the ground.
Such a fall will never be slow,
But the last seconds of it will make no sound.
I'd set myself on fire if I could commit,
Just because sometimes, my own skin doesn't seem to fit.
3. Thank You, Thank You, Fuck You
I still hear your voice inside my head
Whenever I am awake in the darkness of the night.
You only see my scars, never the spots that have bled;
All you know is the plain day with all its broad light.
I still shiver in your fucking lovely presence,
And I know you've tried to turn around, seen the light too.
But I still sense the core of your essence.
So thank you, thank you, fuck you!
What I mean to say is the following word:
Thank you for painfully teaching me not to care.
Thank you for teaching me resilience in a fucked up world.
But fuck you: all the shame and fear is still up there.
So thank you, thank you, fuck you for everything
Because all your words and silences still sting.
4. Ambrosia & a Bear
His step is heavy, much like that of an elephant or a bear.
His hair falls into waves over his shoulder, and his single earring catches my eye.
Could I step forward? Could I even dare?
No, he will immediately see through my lie.
I'm not allergic to ambrosia; I wish I were worthy of it.
This short man's heart is open, bleeding all over his chest...
I turn my head, a failed attempt not to feel the hit.
I hate it all; he fills the muscle of my heart with zest.
Kodiak & Ambrose, an orphan, and a man who feels like one:
Self-destructive, suicidal, a kingslayer against his own name.
An axe to his back, flooding tears after all that's been done...
Different backgrounds, but the stories and feelings are the same.
Both spaceferers smell of lavender, though neither admits it
Because neither is willing to let all the feelings hit.
5. Kodiak's Lament
I would hear them sing "Come, Come, Fallen One",
But nobody would hold us tight.
Am I a mistake? What's it like to be someone's son?
Looking back, the Celius orphanage didn't have much light.
Evenings were lonely; my sole companion was my mind.
I would eat by myself, wondering if I had chosen it or if my classmates did.
Was I born or bred to remain in the shadows, always behind?
I wish I could swim in the pit where my emotions hid.
But Ambrose knows this feeling; he's quasi an orphan, too.
He does have a mother, but she's more of a chairperson of his life.
His cockiness hides a loneliness I know is true
Because I know whispers could hurt him more than a knife.
Now, the scent of ambrosia always feels good,
And it grows in me in a way no other cadet ever could.
6. Crumbling Crown
A long time ago, there was a king hoarding all the power in the world.
He sat on gold and skeletons, the blood of which nobody could see.
He was a master of his craft; in every language, he had a word
Because he knew what his kingdom should be.
As always, those caught under his boot didn't like this king.
All of them feared his voice was a recurring echo of the past.
"His poison tastes like cookies, but it's still the same thing."
"Ha! With him sitting on the throne, this hour will be a blast!"
But does he notice the bards are against him?
Is he aware he's wearing a crumbling crown?
He overlooks our fury, though the lights are no longer dim.
He will have to give up, or the whole system will break down.
He can ring his soldiers, use his trumpet every morning all over again.
Who cares? When his sun goes down, this king will be slain.
7. The Relative Measurement of Time
Time is different up in and from the Big Ben or Bang
Than if you measured it at the level of your hands or feet.
Yet it's still different at the birthday party where you sang
Compared to the moments when you were writing, glued to your seat.
Go inside or outside, up or down
Time is different in any given place.
You measure it through the filter of your own crown,
While an astronomer measures a trace of light across space.
The relative measurement of time can and will drown you out
Because you don't want to admit the very point of perspective.
Time doesn't exactly exist; that's what it's all about,
But wandering through oblivion might prove defective.
You're the clockmaker who decides which cog goes where;
So you decide to be or not to be aware.
8. Most Powerful Human Emotion
What's the most powerful human emotion?
It's a question that's been plaguing sages for ages.
What's driving us, putting us in motion?
What's kept inside until you're pushed over ledges?
Love? Joy? Enthusiasm? Adoration?
Like all emotions, all of these are noble.
But no optimism, no positive thought or affirmation
Can counteract a ghost keeping you immobile.
You know its name, I don't have to say it;
It kills you from the inside, infecting your every move.
Your past demon's shame bleeds into a present hit.
Whisper or shout, it's a voice you'd want to remove.
I'm sure you felt it, you know its power.
Used against you, it cuts as deep as a glass flower.
9. Winter Morning
I know it's August, but it feels like my first Winter.
It's the same brain with the same flavour.
I can already hear the roar of my banter;
All those sweetly sour words I always savour...
Yes, I'm older, but I'm still the same old me:
Pld jokes, old fears, just a slightly louder approach.
Chance is never sudden; it depends on what you choose to see
Because when you don't notice a candle burn, you always blame the torch.
I've never felt older or younger at the same time,
Never before my turning twenty.
It stings; it's bitter-sweet like a sugared lime
Because I've felt so whole, and hollow; so heavy, and empty.
It's still the same brain I'm used to.
But it's strange: I'm somewhere in the middle, too.
10. You All Pretend
You all pretend because you were taught it's easier
Than the painful joy of looking me in the eye.
Oh, how I'd sell my soul to be slightly sleepier!
But it would kill me not to ponder such a fat lie.
I see beyond your flowers; I'm an actor in my own life
Because it's all theatre, and a plain white mask.
When somebody is bleeding, nobody talks about the knife.
"How do you feel?" is a question nobody dares to ask.
An actor? A buffoon? Oh, how that makes me laugh!
Walking on a balance beam, I think I might fall apart...
If it's a theatre, my role is sometimes overwhelmingly tough,
And I don't think I can properly remember the lines of my part...
Isn't it funny to pretend every single day?
But it does get to you, and that will be your last May.
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