The colours of the world once danced for me,
But now they stand, all grey, though if they moved I’d barely see
Music painted dreams that nourished my soul,
But now it drowns the turmoil I can't control

Does it hurt when she treats you like a shadow of the millions,
because she’s the light.
Does it hurt, when you realise you only believed you had a chance
while you were just playing into her elaborate dance.

Even if it does,
you keep living
in all the things you never said
hoping that somewhere, somehow
it wasn’t just all in your head.

I know that it stings to know
she knows exactly how to reach you,
she just never does.
But for some reason, the thought of her
still makes my tormented heart stir.

So why the sadness that you’re over
when you never even really began?
Why do I mourn the life we could of had,
when it was never more than a daydream,
now a source of pain.

It hurts me that you didn’t stay,
I feel it everyday,
But I guess what I really want to know is,
Does it hurt you like it hurts me?

what if I’m waiting
for something that will never come,
what if I was not who I am,
what if I never questioned

what if I don’t want to look on prospects drear
what if I want to be the mouse, not man-
who only lets the present toucheth thee,
to not be a human
that guesses an’ fears.
What if I accept that
even the best laid schemes
gang aft agley,
that often my whimsical dreams
are to keep my actions at bay
tucked under my hat,
kept from leading me astray
because after all Burns said,
in proving foresight might be vain.

And maybe a humans life is what I was destined to get,
but I will not be stopped yet,
though plans may falter and not be met
I will keep here set
In my human form of pain and regret.

Is it better to have loved and lost

than to have never loved at all?

Well—you tell me.

Every time I see that face,

I wish I could turn you back into a stranger—
so the sting in my chest could fade

back into ignorant bliss,

unbeknownst to the pain of love.

When I look at you I see
the boy I told,

“I could never be loved,”

who smiled and swore
he could see the love that exudes from the cracks of my soul
,
What beautiful words

that once lit up my heart,
now make it scorch,

and burn.

But even through all that...

I still miss you.

And I miss you that little bit more

when our song plays on the radio,

and when I watch our favourite movie—

again and again.

It’s the third time this month
that I’m listening to your voice note
you know, the one before our first date
I mouth the last words with a sting in my eyes
‘see you tomorrow my love.’

I say,
I hate you.

So why do I still feel sad

it’s over?

So please tell me,
because I still don’t know
is it better to have loved and lost
than to have never loved at all?

Tonight I will have my last dance
for this is my last chance
before I bid this whole world farewell
I wish for one last dance under your spell

When I first saw you it was as if hummingbirds sung
a familiar rhythm, always on the tip of my tongue.
It was like a pull of my soul
So now I wish for you to make me whole,

I wish again to hear the soft chimes of your laugh,
fleeting yet haunting like wind through glass
all whilst my heart pounds like a shaman’s beating staff.
I wish for the silky fabric of that midnight blue dress
to once again be under my hand’s caress.

A message for my lady in blue
Tonight, I wish to see you,
and if you will grant me entry into your trance
Let me be your last, your final parting dance.

Once upon a time we played pretend
Once upon a time, the game had to end
Once upon a time, I lost a friend.
Once upon a time, I reached my end.

Carefree was I, and carefree was she
In a world of our own we were free.
Safe and sound in our beautiful little dollhouse
Before it crept upon us, silent as a louse.

It came suddenly and took everything we had
The windows of our house grew cracked
The glass became cloudy, we could no longer discern what exactly we were.

Our house was empty
and so were we.
Darkness took over her and me -
Perhaps something they could foresee
But of course they never told me.

Now I have no shoes; my feet are bare.
I am bare.
I stand paper-thin, about to tear.
The cold wind stings, and the rain mats my hair.
The sun burns my skin— but I cannot care.