The rain is loud now, As if a giant feet arises from the clouds To step on the river under the bridge of my heart And disturb it in such a way That the sails of ships bend, And the water touches the bridge from below, Tickling it to sorrow… The rain is loud now, But actually, it has always been like this. You were there once, And I never felt it. But now, All there is Is this sorrow That tickles me from inside, As if it wants me to laugh, Yet doesn’t let me At the same time…
Everyday
you sit by the window in a wheelchair,
Playing your violin.
And everyday
I sit on the bench outside
To listen to the sadness in your playing.
I sit on the bench outside
To hurt myself.
Your hair
Untied,
Wild,
Falling on your face.
Why won’t you look at me
Sitting here to listen to you
Everyday?
Why won’t you look at me;
Someone who listens to music
To feel hurt;
Someone who's like you.
There is joy in the suffering,
And no one sees it.
There is joy in the suffering,
And it makes you seek suffering
When you're happy.
I am happy today.
So I came here to hurt myself,
And to be in company with someone
Who understands the joy in suffering.
I come here to see you play the violin
In pain,
As if your fingers bleed.
I come here to hurt myself
Everyday.
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