the kind of songs that make people glad to be where they are with whomever they're there with

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my body's begging me to cease whatever caused this condition.
my own mind refuses to acknowledge that you're gone, it still tries to bring you back though i do not want it, but i, sure as hell, need it so bad. so it kindly offers all these memories of past.
my heart can't let you go, it's something it won't learn to do. it won't listen, it does what it wants to. i cannot control it, neither predict its next move, but, dear, i'm sure it loved you more than anything it could love.
anything...
i'm torturing myself with all the letters that you wrote. when i read them, you seem closer. i know them all by heart and my mind won't let me forget as my body shook and shivered at the way you hurt with words.

chapter I: denial. §O2. head north for less information (ft. primus man of starchitect)

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because your handwriting is so sweet and calming. and every your word is laid out in my heart. because i can't help but hope that your next chapter is me. so don't tear my page from the book. 
my story doesn't seem so tragic when you're reading it; but I broke your glasses, we will make nothing out of it. and the black ink that i bleed is all over your dress now. my arms are shaking and it's time for me to put this fucking pen down. 
what if we're all authors of our novels? i will then burn my left-over blank note-book's pages. and this fire is going to light your own path into a better future where you won't forget you're truly alive and you won't need anyone to remind you that this place is your home. 
i promise that i won't be fine unless you take my hand in yours and lead me through this shit-hole that we're living in. but if I won't see you again, and you're out walking one day, and you feel a certain presence beside you... that will be me, wherever i am. because i love you and you are my best friend. 
forget me not... 
what if we have to stay alive, just to see how the story ends? - i won't stop erasing your every period and turn them into comas, begging you for the sequel.

chapter III: bargaining. §O6. writing books and changing lives (ft. lera carter)

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knocking at the door with a "past" sign, it seems locked. i diligently tried to find a way to get inside, but the lock's safely secured by my stupid mistakes and shortcomings. and even the key, that's been fused of my most sincere regrets, can't ensure my entrance. let me in... i look through the keyhole and see a pathetic naive kid, sitting at the table; he's writing an essay on a piece of paper, and its title reads "my goals and dreams". he doesn't have a slightest idea about the consequences of such actions. i scream and i shout, trying to warn him of his senses, to bring him back to reason, to prevent him from becoming me. he hears nothing, there's a whole year between us and, as far as i'm concerned, there is no cry of such force that could overcome this distance.
i'm staring at the door with the "future" inscription. this one is wide open. it's way too bright and unexplored; it's so unclear; it's so cold, and it's so uncomfortable that i don't want to set my foot in. darling, if you divided my life to the time before i met you and after you left me, then i won't move an inch.
so i sit here in the hall, scratching "present" on the floor. i'm examining the corridor: a light's shining through the window, and on the windowsill there's a pot, and a daisy's thirsting in that pot. i reach out for my flask to water the flower, but my heart has frozen the water.
perplexed, i utter silent words, my breath is but a cloud of warm air evaporating. and that's where it hit me that ice can't become steam, it should stay water for a while.

chapter III: bargaining. §O5. the most red song in the world

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do my actions contradict my words? 
was there a choice? 
am i screaming so loud that you cannot make sense out of this noise?
did i ever give a fuck at all? 
was it my choice? 
have i lost the ability to learn from my mistakes? 
did i find what i've been searching for? 
was there a choice? 
am i trying too hard to win approval from these people i don't know? 
do i seem too mean to everyone i meet? 
when will i finally let it go? 
can i be less arrogant and proud? 
do i mean what i say or am i talking shit? 
was it all just an act? 
how long can i pretend? 
who the fuck am i? 
where do i fucking belong? 
is my life a disease? 
please keep your mouth shut, i know you've got the answers to those questions. i’ll choke you to death because you know how much i hate perfection. you suck!

chapter II: anger. §O4. choke anna (ft. pazeazea)

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26: no family, no dear soulmates, no great career, no achievements, no cause for joy, no favorite hobby, no dreams. worthless. good for nothing. only a heartbeat, only breathing, only existence. yet lots of errors and countless faults, plenty of blunders and even more flaws. one single desire: for things to get back like they were, but no, it will happen not. just pain that neither kills nor makes one stronger. just time that does not ever fucking heal. just glasses that are always half full.. of shit. just hopes that won't die last cause that would be i. a great deal of started yet unfinished business. dozens of giving-ups. scores of failures. unsuccessful attempts: to change myself; even more insane: to change the past. a thirst for the unattainable; a reluctance for the acquired. making the same mistakes; running around in circles. belated realization. points of no return. burnt bridges. wrong decisions. incompetence to learn. sleepless nights. cold sheets. thick strings. low tunings. screamed vocals. sad songs. 27: ...

i would if i could but i can't so i won't (ft. cauze)

The Story So Far "Navy Blue"

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About the Money (feat. Young Thug)

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the unreal is more powerful than the real 'cause nothing's as perfect as you can imagine it. 'cause it's only intangibles, ideas, concepts, beliefs that last. stone crumbles, and wood rots, and people.. well, they die; one day they'll become dust. but things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, can go on. here, in your mind, you have complete privacy each time you close your eyes.

what if reality is nothing but some disease? there's nothing special in this world. no magic. just physics. the only thing i know is everything you love will die. the real truth's nobody wants reality, here's why:

in this world, our generation pumping gas, waiting tables – slaves with white collars. advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. we're the middle children of history. no purpose or place. we have no great war. no great depression. our great war's a spiritual war. our great depression is our lives. we've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won't.

we have no scar to show for happiness. we learn so little from peace. we're remembered more for what we destroy than what we create. here, desires don't coincide with possibilities, the good isn't rewarded and the evil isn't punished. here, we age, our eyesight's getting worse, our joints crack, our memories fade, our hair turns gray. however, i won't let you disappear. no, i won't give up just like that. no, you can't be so easily erased. don't open your eyes.. and i won't open mine.

chapter I: denial. §O1. your eyes are closed (ft. zontique)

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i would if i could but i can't so i won't (ft. cauze)

and all i can say is