You throw words
Like darts to the heart
Pull my feelings
Like they're puppet strings
Like breaking a precious
Piece of art
Like throwing away
Promise rings

I wished to the stars
Staring down,
"How about a ride?"
They replied,
"You'll be here, dear,
And we'll be waiting
When you arrive."

I do not love the touch of your skin.
It no longer feels like silk.

I don't want to lie to you.
I don't want to hurt you.
But I don't think I can longer love you.

Your voice is monotone.
I can no longer hear the summer warmth in it.

When I'm with you I feel lonely.
I don't want to hold your hand.
I don't want you to see me this way,
so why am I still with you?

I no longer look at you the way you still look at me.
I don't want to break your heart,
but I don't think I can longer love you.

You were once the light in my eyes,
but I always feel a sliver of ice keeping me cold.
You see I found this other
who makes me feel warm
even when I'm frozen to my very core.

You were kind and you are beautiful,
but you deserve someone who will call you lover
and every time greet you with a kiss.
A kiss that'll make your head spin,
but trust me, darling I am not that kiss.

you leave me breathless and strung out
in the late night, wrapped up but cold
staring at my phone screen waiting for
you to say anything
you tell me to go to sleep
(it's some passive aggressive *******)
i go to sleep anyway

I like being alone
I love soletude
But every once in awhile
I get a feeling
I think it's loneliness

I don't like people
I hate socializing
But every once in awhile
I get a desire
I think it's for companionship

I sometimes want a friend
But I dunno
I'm not great with people
But maybe my answer is a person
Then I won't have to be alone

Does the lonely bird still sing?
Do his feathers still greet the Spring?

Is there a sadness in his song?
When the full forest sounds wrong?

Unsure if abandoned by hope
Or lost in the fetid smoke.

His voice a broken pitiful thing.
A lonely bird cannot sing.

And if he musters a "Po-tee-weet"
No other birds may he greet.

Will ever a time come to pass
When the lonely bird sings at last?