when I was young

tiny

魔瓶20歳大学生

こころの声demo

魔瓶弾き語り男(20)

血が出るみたいに思い出したのは
できすぎた出会いやはじめての痛みのこと
乗り換えで途切れた話の続きを聞かせて
ねえもっと遠くへ逃げたいね

繰り返す波はいつも　淡々とそれはいつも
姿を残して　すりへるだけなの
空を切る電波塔が流れてく窓にそっと
夢を委ねては　まちあぐねている

地下鉄駅のホームでおかしなこと考える
君にはこれっぽっちも
わかってもらえませんように

血が出るみたいに思い出したのは
傷つけた日の陽射しや別れ際くちびるの動き
雨の日には決まって傷跡が痛むかい
ねえもっと近くで見せてよ

p.s. (kuso-demo)

曖昧な天気だった
どうでもいいことばっか浮かべてた
会いたいなって気だったよ けどそのまま
どうでもいいことばっか浮かべてた

どこにもいけずに　泣いたりしてるの？
目を閉じる間もなく　アラームを止めたよ

ラッキーナンバーばっか追って
本当はわかってるんだ
何も変わりゃしないけど
ラストナンバーで踊って
ぜんぶかなしみのせいだって知ってるさ

ラストソングが終わるまで
最終便のバスが来るまでだけさ

鳴らない電話に　憂いたりしてるの？
目を閉じる間もなく　アラームを止めたよ

ラッキーナンバーばっか追って
本当はわかってるんだ
何も変わりゃしないけど
ラストナンバーで踊って
わかり合いたいせいだって知っててよ

ゴーストワールド - 風邪は治ったdemo

おしえて.m4a

No H8

Dawn ties its laces while the kettle counts to three.
If the night came loose, let morning loop you back to be.

Curtains breathe, a seam of sun unspools along the wall,
shoelace thoughts in crossing knots, the smallest rise-and-fall.
Coffee steam, a quiet hymn, the rim of day made round,
threaded spine of little things that stitch you to the ground.
What holds a life?, a slip, a bow, a loop that doesn’t brag;
a patient pull that tucks the fray back under like a flag.
Name what stayed and name what strayed, then let the naming rest;
sometimes mercy’s just a finger pressed against your chest.

Try as you might, taking the fight, morning awake, an ache you can’t shake;
don’t worry, it’s “only” the world at stake.

Will you tie a knot, knot, not forgot?
Do you hold the string, untangling?
Thread of story, learn to see
all that lives between you and me.
Three is tied, tide in time,
undone by love and nursery rhyme.
Spooled by hands, by all demands,
by grit and grim and all of it, still stand.

How do you hold what you were told when truth has split in two?
A bow remembered from a child’s shoe can still remember you.
Left over right, then right through light, the catechism small;
practice is the sacrament of not forgetting all.
A braid of breath, a brace of names, a brace that doesn’t bind,
a brace like bracken underfoot that springs and changes mind.
If shame is thread too tightly wound, it kinks and cuts the skin;
ease the tension, let it sing, and let the soft begin.

Try as you might, taking the fight, morning remakes the shape you break;
don’t worry, it’s only everything the day will ask you stake.

Will you tie a knot, knot, not forgot?
Do you lead the line through tangling?
Story’s fiber, let it be
warp and weft of you and me.
Three is tied, tide in time,
count it like a skipping rhyme.
Spooled by hands, by all demands,
by loss, by luck, still make, still mend.

Braid what breaks, splice what stays,
loop the loose in lighter ways.
If the morning asks, say “yes”, 
not to more, but to less:
less of knot that chokes the throat,
more of knot that keeps the coat.

So come close, be brave and ask, don’t leave it in the past;
the present is a patient loom that loves the threads that last.
Teach your hands the gentle math: two ends, one kindly pull;
the bow remembers how to bow, embarrassment to lull.
Hold the string, then loosen it, let daylight through the twist;
make room for what you couldn’t say, and what you almost missed.
If a name you cannot speak keeps snagging at the seam,
hum it softly into cloth until it turns to dream.

Try as you might, taking the fight, morning will take your weight and wake;
don’t worry, it’s only the courage to rise for your own sake.

I will tie a knot, knot, not forgot,
I will hold the string, untangling.
Thread of story, let me see
every bridge from you to me.
Three is tied, tide in time,
count it with a nursery rhyme.
Spooled by hands, by all demands,
by grit, by grace, I’ll stand, expand.

If the knot slips, breathe and tie it twice, then let it lie.
Morning binds you back to life; bow once, then try.

tiny

⭐︎

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