I am just a pencil, that needs sharpening.

I am just a door, that’s opened constantly.

The hinges squeak, they need be oiled.

I am just a wash cloth, to wash the dirt away.

I am just a basket, to throw trash away.

These days feel idle,

Different shades of blue are made.

Tell me something,

Say that the things we feel are real.

Not just some game or fantasy.

There’s a thousand piece puzzle,

Laying beneath your feet.

All the pieces seem there,

Yet there’s just one missing,

Will I ever feel complete?

Will these words ever mean anything?

Will these actions bare fruit,

Passion seems there.

Are we looking at the same Sun,

Are we looking at the same Moon?

A Lunar eclipse seems comparable to the feeling felt in a room without you.

Is there light at the end of the barrel,

Is there feeling with a tight rope?

We walk a thin line between reality and dreams.

With each moment gravitating closer to long more for sleep.

This pain won’t subside,

This yearning burns deep,

Your love is like Methamphetamine….

Addicting with each taste.

Most days are suffocating,

Patiently waiting,

Like the last five minutes of work,

The last minute until you hear the school bell,

Or even a big test, you’re waiting to see the results for to see if you’ve passed or failed.

Days like these feel empty,

Moments like these feel faint.

When I close my eyes this puzzle I vision just can’t be complete.

Open the box, see if it’s there.

Check under the dinner table,

Maybe it got tangled up there.

No matter where we all look, it seems that it’s nowhere…


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