I wait for someone to find what I’m hiding,

I want to feel the warmth of someone’s hand on my shoulder,

all I know is the weight of their hatred.

I dread the ticking seconds,

yet somehow, tomorrow always seems brighter.

I crave to toast to victories I’ve carved from bone,
everything tastes like burnt birthday cake.

My hands itch to create, to pull worlds from the dust,
but I’m too tired to sleep and too tired to wake,

half-dreaming, always on the edge of awake

I want my words to pierce someone’s soul,
But I’m met with silence, performing to rows of empty seats.

I just miss the dry feeling on my cheeks.