The strings are getting rusty,
I haven't played since that day,
my style has turned uselessly fusty,
and I don't plan on changing my way.

The chords, slowly forgotten, will not
be played again.

Concerts will be put on hold, later on
cancelled.

If I had just one fan, small-eyed or freckled.
I would keep going, but I don't.

I'll go back to practicing.

Standing in front of the fridge
staring at the food, unlikely to
like it, but hungry, so hungry, do
I take it just to have this itch

scratched? This moment is my only chance
the last time that I will glance
will tell me what to do or say
do I take this offer or should I stay

away from tension, possibly bringing
forth the hurt and pain of what's
never to regain, it's never the same.
I just listen and blatantly start singing

Along with the songs of love, that's
the error here, to me it's just a game.

Arms resting on carrara, leaning
in to make you feel like it should
appreciated, and if I just could
tell you but my expressions lose meaning

when I speak instead of show, low
heartbeat, fast, surrounded by
the veil of whiteness, pretty, oh my,
this must be, with covering snow.

She does not respond to this
silent weight on the shoulders
weighing more than massive boulders
she doesn't know how much I miss

her grasps and hesitated touch
they're like a failing, neverending clutch

It's like taking a new route, walking
another path than before, not knowing
What might come or be or what is growing.
Don't be scared, let your eyes do the talking.

Everything I see is different, like when you
read a book you have never read before,
you've seen those words, you're quite sure,
but not here, not where you'd expect them to be.

I have seen it all now it's their turn to notice me.
Hoping I won't ruin it by something that I'll do.
I've never talked to them but I know I'll like them too.

I keep calling myself brave, every day, for trying
this but inside a little part of me is surely dying.
And if everything goes wrong, I'll definitely end up crying.

harmless like a cactus, refreshing my every thought
sliding, gliding my hand through very dry sand.
I am nothing like whatever my thoughts are now
Though  I wish I was, someway, somehow

She grabbed my tie and pulled me in,
after eating, wiped the leftovers off my chin,
soft and silky, warm blankets, rubbing,
afterwards, we're kissing, the others went out, clubbing.

I had a date, I wish I had, I love my date, I wish
I will. Everything goes floopy when I simulate
a proposal, I want to go big, make her laugh and
touched, but I don't have someone to share these small
connections of delightful rows of affection, shown.

always together, freaky, phalanx formation,
pretty eyelashes, perfect natural eyebrows, all kinds
and shades of brown involved, some blond.

They use their pinkies to make a promise,
hold eachothers hair when sick, laugh and giggle
at the same boys and support the choice of men.

Either way I cannot say, are they paper, are they
stone? Each and every one, sitting on a massive throne,
getting most of what they want because they're symmetrical.

Who are they really, why are they doing this, does no one care?
Don't hate me for trying to be sweet, thoughtful. Don't make
up a person to link with me, cause that's not me. I didn't do it either.

I'm just guessing, just thinking, just staring, forgot blinking,
when you walked by, pressure's rising, tension building and
my head is bustling, everything all at once and then it stops.

I don't know any of you really.