"who will love sad soul?"
she is just a broken poet
who writes bad poetry.

"who will like her poem?"
she uses her blood and tears
to write broken poem.

(deep down inside
she has known the answer)

I am a sad soul pretending to be happy.
I often believe that I have actually found happiness.
I sit alone in my dark room and realize I was never truly happy.
I want you to be here with me before I do terrible things again.
I know you can't be here with me because our parents won't allow it.
I hope that when I wake up in the afternoon everything is normal.

I search for you in the late nights
at the bottom of the bottle.
I look for you in the embers striving to burn
at the end of a dying cigarette.
I ache for you in the arms of a stranger,
a man with different proportions,
a deeper voice, a rougher face.

I’m searching for you in all the places
you swore you’d never be
just like you swore you’d never leave.
But the pale hands caressing your satin skin,
pale hands that weren’t mine
burn in my mind and
I wonder how I’ll ever find you in the places
you swore you’d never be
just like you lost me,
when you swore you’d never leave.