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It Is (Depression)It is a shroud of black velvet.
It is the violent ocean in the dead of night.
It is the monster in the shadows; the Vashta Nerada.
It is the final crash of symbols in Carmina Burana.
It is impossible to lift.
it is impossible to breathe.
It is impossible to see.
It is the only thing that can be heard.
It is why the stars disappear at night.
It is why every light drifts by without stopping.
It is why the gnawing starts and never ceases.
It is why nothing else matters in the end.
It is my disease.
It is my disability.
It is my misfortune.
It is my death sentence.
ParanoiaAre they laughing?
Yes. I hear them giggling your name again.
If I turn around, will they be staring?
Definitely. You've always been a sight to see.
Will they want to talk to me?
And why would they? You can barely hold an interesting conversation for over three minutes to begin with.
Why don't anyone of them like me?
You don't even like yourself, child. Who would?
Is this paranoia tricking me again?
No. This is your life speaking.
Ghost of YouDown on my knees for you
Begging please stop
Picking the good out of me
Heaving on the floor
I need you
But you're killing me
I look in the mirror
My reflection beckons back
Who is she?
Someone falling through the cracks,
That you have made in her broken heart
Someone begging on her knees for you to shut up
Just a girl who wants to be beautiful
Just running from the edge
Into this world unknown
Finding nobody, but the ghost of you...
SanitySometimes, I want to look into your eyes and love you.
Sometimes, I just wanna look into your eyes and hope not to cry.
I have the habit of crying.
I am so delicate...yet strong.
I'll get through it.
You'r a strong woman and I love you.
I want to love you.
Will you take my hand?
And not hurt me?
Who am I?
Do you know?
Are you mistaken?
As you were before?
Do you love me if you knew?
Am I too strange?
Does nothing kill me?
Would nothing kill you?
My body is covered in blood.
I think it is my own.
Still a heart as pure as silver and as valuable as treasure.
Have I lost my mind?
I think so.
But I'm trying to put it back together.
I have a heart time bleeding.
It fills my lungs.
It's too late.
I've lost my mind.
Where am I?
Hold me, I'm afraid.
Get away from me..
not you - it, I want it away from me.
Makes me run.
Run a long time.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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