I never said it out loud.
That if I could,
I would bear it all for you.
In this lifetime or the hereafter,
I would give up everything for you.
Because we’ve been tied by blood,
Or do they call it fate?
But there’s something sickening about you,
That I can’t help but hate.
The sickness that lives in me too,
Was that also written in fate?
I once tried to fold 1000 paper cranes for you
But the cranes remained,
As you eventually left.
So when I found the cranes
Almost a decade later,
I bursted into tears
And wondered if somewhere –
Somewhere beyond us all,
You will suddenly remember me now and again too,
Just like so?
I can’t turn back time to that morning,
As I looked down into my cup.
I can’t turn back to that moment
As I watched your leaving back
And how I wanted to call you back.
But if I had the chance,
I would have done the same
Because such is the fate,
When gone was the flame.
I am angry,
For they’ve taken more and more
And more and more,
Than they could ever give back.
So they can’t blame me for retaliating,
When all I wanted was fairness.
But they’ll spin their stories and make me the villain,
Trying to appease me with the cage they call freedom.
I’m not sure why suddenly
I’m remembering all the promises you made,
And then broke.
How many years did I torment myself
Thinking it was because I wasn’t enough for you.
Nothing was ever enough for you.
Because even you,
Wasn’t enough for you.
It’s not as though I’ve never seen the rain.
The time spent drowning in tears,
Or breaking in pain.
But today when the showers came,
With rainbow bursting through my window pane,
It felt like nourishment finally came,
To soothe my pain.
I want to go home to the sea.
Then sometimes, I’ll sit on the rock
As they pass like ships in the night.
The sun will rise,
And then it will set.
So I can live just like this,
To never have to fret.
There’s a dream of mine.
It’s a little out there,
And it doesn’t fit their design.
So I’ve played the game,
Again and again
Because who am I to dream,
When dreams are for fools?
But if I had a choice,
I’d rather be a fool
Than your disposable tool.
I’m broken, and I’m tired.
Have they always come hand in hand?
I can’t muster the strength to smile
When everything is broken inside.
I think I’m purging, purging and purging.
So don’t make me pretend with you,
Just to make you feel something inside.
I wonder if sometimes I get so used to anxiety,
That I like staying with it.
Because slowly it becomes normal,
And feeling otherwise is then abnormal.
But how do you part with an old friend that easily?
Perhaps I should get with the times
I think they call it ghosting.