We use art- colorful poems, colorless photographs, as a cry for help, unaware
But
Quietly hoping that someday someone would understand
The pain behind those eyes, the regret behind that smile
We waste away like corpses, letting the love fade away,
And the possibility of anything happening dies.
We try to hide away our almosts,
Almost something, lovers or dreams
Because the pain behind the almosts is too overwhelming
So we hide them away
Lock them inside a small cupboard,
Never hoping to remember,
Calling them what they are
The dying embers.
But they are like uninvited guests
Suddenly,
they show up inside our heads
Quietly, they sneak in
Somewhere from the unconscious
Making us feel like
Doomsday is upon us.
They present themselves as photographic memories and poetry
For a while, it seems only skin-deep but
Somehow they surface
On social media, in our dreams, in everything we see
We write and we click and we speak, and suddenly we find ourselves
Remembering.
But
Quietly hoping that someday someone would understand
The pain behind those eyes, the regret behind that smile
We waste away like corpses, letting the love fade away,
And the possibility of anything happening dies.
We try to hide away our almosts,
Almost something, lovers or dreams
Because the pain behind the almosts is too overwhelming
So we hide them away
Lock them inside a small cupboard,
Never hoping to remember,
Calling them what they are
The dying embers.
But they are like uninvited guests
Suddenly,
they show up inside our heads
Quietly, they sneak in
Somewhere from the unconscious
Making us feel like
Doomsday is upon us.
They present themselves as photographic memories and poetry
For a while, it seems only skin-deep but
Somehow they surface
On social media, in our dreams, in everything we see
We write and we click and we speak, and suddenly we find ourselves
Remembering.
