What bothers me is how we notice
The absence of light
More than the presence of darkness.
Black, black, blacker, it all looks the same.
But when it goes from white light, to black night,
It brings the utmost pain.

What bothers me is how it seems
That we are unfit to live the way we were born.
We go through life seeking the other half to our human form.
How can it truly feel like we are incomplete the way we are?
I search the veins of the world to find my one, my only, midnight star.

What bothers is me is how he who said,
“Nothing gold can stay,” was right as rain.
I tasted heaven in your arms and death when you were taken away.
You shine so bright I can still taste you on my skin,
A phantom of what was and what might have been.

What bothers me is that it’s not like you’re dead.
You’re alive, with a beating heart, sleeping effortlessly in your bed,
While I am alone to sit and conquer, the demons of all our stolen hours,
To remember what it was like when you stayed
And how my spirit shattered when I was forced to walk away.

But most of all it bothers me that I am alone in my thoughts.
You are with another one who makes you glad to be alive,
My name a distant entry in your long and messy archive.
While you, you are everything to me, the song, the dance, the dream,
The very magic that appears in the brightness of the moonbeam.

I would have loved to learn to love you,
But I didn’t get the time.
I would have loved to be yours and for you to be mine.
But I must let go of you, a poison that tastes like honey.
What I stole has been stolen from me, oh the sick and heartless irony.