The moon hanging above is the only one who knows my pain Listen to laughter in my mind until I go insane Please do not let the stress consume me in a single bite Listening to negative voice that raises almost every night And the moon offers subtle comfort when demons emerge to play Take a small step forward Two back the next day Is it my blood or am I simply too weak? Won’t give up on looking for the answers that I seek The world will not make it easy but I have faith I will pull through And hopefully find happiness hidden inside too
And if I don’t we’ll at least I gave it my best effort
Apple lights keep hurting my eyes Street corners breaking my threads The concrete is now heating up The constant noise I’m hearing fades I’m fighting dreams of other cities This phone keeps bussing me I feel like a ghost in my reality I’m busy but not keeping it busy The screen distracting me from the concrete All I’m asking for is an everything bagel I’m hungry and dizzy in an empire wonderland of hopeful thinking • I’m trying to speak all these lights into an existence I’m trying to walk in the streets best for me Apple Empire lights have my eyes awake Sipping on juice but eyes keep sleep crawling Keep me from breaking bridges I want to go for loop-de-loops in a six speed Burning at the light and time we have all day
I want to follow my dreams but in order to be successful I might have too move. But I want to better my own city. I want it to be fun at the end of the day.
As a child, I would write letters. No, I have never been a romantic, just a rather diplomatic child. I would write letters of negotiation to a friend of mine, burn them, and let the ashes be a legible phoenix to him.
As a child, I grew up writing letters. I stopped believing in the existence of phoenixes. Either that or my friend wasn’t really a fan of one. He was way older than I’d ever be, so I was sure it wasn’t a change of taste. It was rumoured that he preferred the savour of sconces, so I kept burning my letters.
As a child, I wrote letters in desperation. I learnt the fine line between a negotiation and a plea. I pleaded…I pleaded a lot in my letters. Do you think dried tears on paper burn too? I think my friend thought it insufficient. Either that or salt water becomes invincible above the clouds.
As a child, I wrote letters. I wrote lots of letters. I wrote letters to the only one I was sure would write back in some way. I think burning those letters wasn’t such a good idea, it made him unable to read them. Either that or he forgot changing mails was supposed to be a colloquy. He’s my friend, right? He’d have replied if he really did see them…right?
As a child, I did write letters. Then I stopped. Then, then I never wrote them again until I was forced to for grades’ sake. They are the only letters I can say I got replies to. Only difference was, for some reason, each one I wrote came back with the marks of a red pen and a word beneath it all.