this is how i feel. i cannot explain it other than this. i wrote this for myself, but i directed it to someone else. strange. the subject of this piece, does in fact, exist. both subjects do.
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I'm unable to utter a syllable
Concerning the legions of men who have followed you
(I'd take great pleasure in speaking volumes if at all possible)
The fact remains that none appear striking
Or talented or interesting in the shadow of you
In fact, no legion exists
I thought one (just one) would be deep or emotional
One would overthrow me with passion
And tackle me with undeniable brilliance
But none, no one thus far has approached me
A futile war I've embarked on indeed
I'm forced to revisit you
Remembering the coffeeshop battles
And the music you composed
I have no choice but to peer at the dusty photos
Watch the old movies
Kiss your mirage in the sun
Day in, day out the end result unswerving
Tears, shouts, reassembly of my sanity
This is indeed torture
Sure, there could be someone existing better than you
One to grab me by the throat with unmerciful honesty
And rip me off my lofty cloud nine
I've seen him before, he does exist
But he won't approach me, he refuses to scar me
Because no one takes a chance
Since you did.
