I think I'm floating on a bed of stars
Casually being carried off to Mars
But at least it's not to Jupiter
Where I would become more stupider.
As if the ladder could be true though
I might just disappear like Pluto

I don't want someone in my world
who wishes to be perfect.
Because that means they will look to me to be perfect as well.
I refuse to carry this.
Life is already too much.
I can not be judged by them.
Who are they anyway?
I have all of these "flaws" that I embrace because it unstresses me to know.
I get to wake up everyday and be myself. The only person I've  known for all of these years.
I have tried to fake it.
I always fail, and I never fail.
So my resentment for you is alive.
And then,
I look to the corner of my wicked eye,
which forces my hand to judge.
And ****** you.
Hoping one day,
the person you were meant to be resurfaces.

I seem to only live in seconds.
Second child bearing.
Dining in
second plates,
Wearing second hand garb.
Wait a second bus!
My clocks second hand too slow.
Third child born,
living second child syndrome.
The first of my kind,
still only second best.
And for the record, I second that!
I seem to only live in seconds.
Rise in fog and clouds,
and a split second rain.
Or let me think for a second.
Could be second hand smoke.
And when the time comes,
to end that very small space in time,
I'll be ready.
In a second.

It can be a beautiful thing.
If only the lonely could see.
You are invisible, but it's clear to us,
so soon forgotten, yet we remember
how much tomorrow needs you.
You could be someone's true beauty,
If only we loved things truly.
It won't always cast it's grin upon us,
and OH! how the mind gets cloudy.
But we will never revolt from your smile.
A smile that relinquishes energy to the sun,
giving it a brand new light,
and so many benefit from it.
You're much like an exotic bumblebee.
If only my T could see.
Infecting us with your queen like disposition,
so coy,
with no wonder of how we replenish from your deed.
If only the lonely could see.
You are a beautiful thing.

A desired lip will always say what it wants.
It feasts on personal gain, caring little for the needy.
Nor does it care to have mercy on an aching heart.
The wanted only seem to hold dear to them
their own interests, while
some of our most precious moments are ripped out from under us, and
it triggers an unequivocal effect of some kind.
A great consequence.
All the while thinking of what we've become.
But the answer never satisfies us,
so we just continue being ghosts in our own bodies.
We don't dare express our mood of circumstances,
in fear of being banished into solitude.
And to eternity we continue to carry on in someone else's solipsism.