I am meant to feel.
I know this as true.

Yet, all the feeling I once felt is through.

Why are we meant to look through
Rose-colored glasses

When roses are the color
of blood

What was true? What was false? Had he ever had a pulse?
Was he real? Was he not? Would he even be distraught?

Leave me here
or leave me there
it’s not that I
have thoughts to spare

It’s flames that I must
stoke and catch
I haven’t strengths yet
left to stretch

My eyes grow weary,
weak, and vile
for only I
will hold this trial

It’s my own fault
as I grow blind
how not a comfort
could I find

Please, wish me well
or wish me wrong
I always lose my words,
my song

I never meant for
this to die,
I only wish to see
the sky

run, run
one, two, three
is this not insanity?
again and again
isn't it strange?
how each time you
expect a change?

Bars can't silence the voice in a throat
As night can't **** off the dawn
Wishing can never be smothered or choked
Even when losing the song

And though ice slows the dream in mind
And memory blurs the path
Lyrics, music, all flow in kind
Each bird forgets the world's wrath