It’s something I miss.
But I don’t like this.
So, correct me if I’m wrong,
But the flow has dried.
It’s been a long time like this.
And I hate this.
Words come from experiences,
But we’ve got nothing left to live,
Nothing left to say;
Dried up like sun kisses on wet skin.
All the missiles I missed,
You were the one shooting them.
This is so useless.
But I miss this.
And I miss it so much,
I could cry 20 thousand diamonds
Just to try to convince you that I don’t.
My heart is aching like it’s been shot,
And none has missed.
You won’t understand this, you won’t.
But I’m used to this,
Being taken for granted
Like I’ll always be there
When you don’t need me the most.
I’m having more fun,
A better thrill without
Your relentless changing faces.
I’m having a better time
Speaking to other faces.
I’m not worth your time,
No matter what your pace is.
I’m like a miss, standing,
Waiting to be announced
Queen of something,
Only to be found unworthy of titles
And golden bracelets.
These are my broken pieces.
Try to understand this
Text, because this is the only way
I could ever freely express my distress
Without sounding like other misses.
Now, I don’t like this.
But it’s something I miss.
So, correct me if I’m wrong,
But our rivers have dried.
It’s been a long time like this.
October 3, 2017. I missed the way certain things used to be.
