The days are long so pray the weeks fly by,
For the endless traveler with the anxious mind.
Where fruition seems to be so far, so fleeting,
And no amount of heat can ignite this healing.
The fireflies are alive tonight,
A reminder of the spark that I don't feel inside,
Where bated breaths are met with an empty touch,
And whispered words are said so easily,
That they don't mean enough.
Or anything at all.
Or anything at all.  
This charade to me is far too easy,
No fight, no battle, no effort needed,
Just pleasantries and a sly tongue,
I've built you up to become undone.
Parade your flesh, unwrapped, uncovered,
With eyes so telling, there is nothing left to discover.
I will hide the boredom with experienced poise,
And wrap you up to fill the void,
Within my chest, that beats at best,
For that which doesn't mean much,
Or anything at all.
Or anything at all.