i was on the wrong page of the wrong book with the wrong rendition of the wrong hook. made the wrong move every wrong night with the wrong tune played til it sounded right.

spend most of my nights trying to convince myself one day my life will be worth living.

i had lots the ability of knowing if i deserve something or not when i was in 13.

it all beings in my 13 and should've been ended exactly there as well.

now i'm stuck in a humanity recycling of empathy, agony and a heavy chest of 28 kilograms that i carry everyday.

a war can absofuckinglutely save me atp.

well guess that happened.

آهای حرومزاده‌ها، من هنوز زنده‌ام.

مجبور شدم کانفینگ بخرم.

دیگه نمی‌شد.

حس معتاد نئشه‌ایی رو دارم که بعد از ۲ماه تَرک، بلاخره دوباره تونسته high بشه.

نمیدونم کی این اوضاع تموم میشه، اما لطفا زودتر تموم شه چون دارم تموم میشم.

maybe we meant to be like this, to feel this way and to try to survive. maybe we had never a chance to live our life the way we wanted.

even if either our lives were written like this or not, i would like to burn it down with my lighter.

it doesn't matter how much i try about it, there's always something in the way.