As we use to do when we were children
Hoping someone sees them, just in case
Hoping he’ll think of me a bit more than “just occasionally”.
Never knowing what is what I want,
And getting bored to death…
Life is unfair, my dear.
No words, nothing to say anymore
No conversation, just yawning
Watching your glass always half full
“Finish it or I’ll die” I’m going to scream
Or just snatch it and break it into a million pieces
Holding too much on twisted nerves…
Life is nothing but what we make of it, my dear.
August 16, 2005
No comments:
Post a Comment