Whilst I am looking at those beautiful
actresses,
time is flying by.
Whilst I am worrying about those
wrinkles,
time s flying by.
Whilst I am dreaming but am constantly afraid to try,
time... is... flying…. by.

Whilst I am sitting here, believing in tomorrow,
I close my eyes successfully to the internal sorrow,
I’m frozen and slowly it dawns on me
that time is flying by, it’s taking its toll on me.

My fingers are cold typing these words,
I’ve always wanted to learn some new chords,
And when will I join that sports club finally?
When will I see that
time will not fly by infinitely?

there is a small fire,
a flickering light,
akin to a firefly lost
in the cold mists of night,
shining bright where
my joy should be.

there is a deep well,
a profound darkness,
akin to a cavern flooded
with frigid dark waves
echoing eternally
to the sound of loneliness.

there is a lackluster wreckage,
a broken trireme,
akin to a kingly one
that sailed out of Ithaca,
bleeding memories through
a gashing wound.

there is a rhyme,
a shattered syllable,
akin to a muffled shout
that reverberated throughout
those splintered blinks
of a forlorn childhood...

We all leave our footprints on the golden sand
As we take our final breath from this land
Some leave their step close to the water
Some have wept over the death of their son or daughter
So the ones closest to the shore
Will be washed away by a wave
They'll drown and die without asking for more
And give up their final chance to be saved
But some people leave their final footprints further away
Just for a little while longer, they can admire the day
Then they'll see the rest of society drowning in their aquatic fame
Then ask themselves if they should've done the same
But you must leave your mark on this world
Or else you'll be washed away
And you have to live for yourself
Or this world will make you pay
Would you rather leave your mark, or pleasantly drown?
Would you rather leave this world by yourself, or your whole town?
Do you also want to wear society's sea-blue gown?
So when you swim, society will drag you down,
But it is up to you to make sure you don't drown.

Oh, how I dreamed of those firefly nights
And our playful games and fights
With the setting of the sun, through the fields we'd run

I remember those memories vividly
But they can no longer be
They are now owned by the past and can no longer last

And now me and my friends have grown up
Yet I still feel stuck
To go back, I yearn, just to return

And one day I was granted a wish
Then with a pop and a swish
I returned to what was mine, I traveled back in time

I returned to that firefly night
But nobody was in sight
They all moved on, they all were gone

They all grew up from day to day
And not even time was there to stay
And I was forever alone in the place I used to call home

Its the middle of the night,
I have this pit in my stomach.
Its a sinking feeling,
I cant stop it.
I need help,
I cant ask for it.
Feels like hell,
I cant get out of it.
Im sinking,
Deeper and deeper,
To the depths of despair.

I'll never share a kiss
Or receive handwritten love letters
I'll never be given a bouquet of pink and red flowers
Or dance in the street with the late night showers

And when I feel distraught
There'll be no one there
I'll never experience comfort from another
Never the warmest hugs of a lover

I'll watch everyone else slowly fall in love
While I watch in the distance
And I wonder when it'll be my turn
Having something that which years I've yearned

And I'm simply told to get over myself
And find comfort in being independent
But for my whole life I've been on my own
Oh, how I wish to be the subject of a love poem

Must I spend my whole life alone?
Must I spend my whole life unloved?
If only I wasn't drowned in such a frantic
Oh, the miserable life of a hopeless romantic

I sense loneliness creeping in my bones
Its beyond uneasy, you know
I do miss you
Though, I'd never admit that to myself
Even if I'm going through hell,
Cause I like to pretend.
That I'm perfectly fine without you.
That my sky is still a pretty blue
I put up this pretence,
without any help.
The one thing I'm excellent at,
Is lying to myself

I compare my loneliness to the sound of a mourning dove.
It starts low and small, then goes up
It repeats the more each call goes unanswered

Perhaps letting it out, alone and loud
over and over
eases the pain, yet also pokes at the caged creature within
encouraging a festering of wounds.

A mourning dove never seems to be where the other birds are
Because when it calls it becomes all I can hear
It guides me far into the fog, ever elusive
until I finally spot it
high above on a line.

Every time it gets a little easier.
Every time it starts to sound less
like a Gymnopédie No. 1
and more like a Claire de Lune
major key as well as minor
content as well as sorrowful.

It's alone, and it's still singing.