At times like this,
drowned in misery
and suffocated by the night,
I wish I could hear you say
"It's alright."
To ask you to recite it,
I couldn't bear.
Yet still,
I yearn to hear.
Deathly afraid to be troublesome,
I stay silent,
while the pain in my chest
grows violent.
I could never
be someone I'm not,
and everything I do
is for naught.
I can't be
someone I'm not.
Knowing my futility
is leaving me distraught.
For you to notice me
is what I want, it seems.
But I could never say so,
and it will remain
a dream.