A million different people, but not one I could talk to,
this awful feeling must be what they call loneliness,
I need a warm shoulder for my skull to rest
but the mist of the mystery lies beyond me and myself.
I'm calling out for help, and the only voice I hear back
sneers back, "you are alone".

A million different people, but not one I could talk to,
A million different people, but my forked view could not
seem to spot the few.

Somewhere along the way
I've seem to forgotten your face
Your name somehow became a mystery.
Somewhere along the way
I've filled in the empty space
your name somehow became a mystery.

Somewhere along the way
I wish I could remember you
but I do not know who you were
or who you are...

So tell me, does the clouds miss the raindrops;
did I wake up forgetting teardrops,
because I've seen sunny sky turn grey
and still I wish I hadn't forgotten your name.

But goodbye to you, who I once fell for
so goodbye to you, who made bells roar...

So please just say goodnight,
I've fought the midnight blues
So please just say goodbye
because I've forgotten you

I know I'm not supposed to feel upset but some reason I do
I knew that some days I will always feel this way, unreasonable
thoughts never seemed feasible, unspeakable words I've lost
like a cross marking the memories stained saying 'wrong'.

I thought I knew you and your history but I really didn't,
this isn't supposed to upset me but for some reason it does
enough to make me want to remind you of the great things
the singsong of the morning sunrise and everything bright.
The positive light. But it might not be all that bright right now.
My shoulder is yours and I will always lend you my ear
so hear me when I tell you "we are friends forever"
and nothing will sever our friendship.

Stay strong- I believe in you. I believe in how wonderful and magnificent you are.
Don't forget to smile
-Star Gazer

More than half a year ago, I found myself in your life,
trusted your light as the guide to find my way back home
because walking alone left me the possibility of being lost,
upon seeing frost nestled between the barks of trees
I've seen what it really means to possess a cold exterior.
I watch your world and mine, conjoin like shortcuts
in the road somewhat leading people to the same places
but some roads aren't meant to be hastened, it's not tasteless
but the faces I began to recognise isn't the one walking with me
it becomes a mystery and before I falter from the trail,
I walk myself backwards, too afraid of you, too afraid to go on,
I found myself walking to the place where I came from.

I was lost, because something happened, something changed
when you took the shortcut.

Writers are forged from the fires of struggle
made to never crumble under pressure
like treasures embedded with diamonds.
Writers are fighters facing thunder and lightning,
writing the spark, the shock, the rumble
and the calm that comes after.
Writers are like iron forged under fire
burning with desire to be as strong as possible,
as sharp and logical as any thunderstorm.

Writers are roses in a valley of dandelions
aligned with lines as thorns and rhymes as petal,
which settles on paper.