Come and go.

Come and go.

How the days come and go.

Like the bleakest of shooting stars.

The days of old have come and gone.

There’s nothing left but stories to be told.

The present, long.

The people, gone.

The same old song on repeat.

Over and over plays the ancient tune of normalcy.

Pining for a past that’s long gone.

Forgotten by many, but not my song.

The song that plays and plays.

The music is ingrained in me.

It’s where I come from.

My roots are dug up and cut away.

Thrown in a drawer, might need them someday.

I live in the shadow of my own potential.

And to the lord I am resentful.

Where is the light you once shined upon me?

Why can’t you return it, and set my soul free?

I prevent myself from reaching my peak

Even though glory is what I seek.

However, my search for glory isn’t the moral to this story.

The moral to my story is yet to been seen.

But this isn’t about me.

It’s about you.

You look at me and swear I’m not alone,

Then you look down to check their phone as if I’m not even there.

I know you’d rather be with your actual friends,

So don’t sit here and pretend that you really are my friend.

Maybe if you tried you could be.

Maybe if you said good morning.

Maybe if you didn’t only attempt to bring yourself glory.

Maybe. Just maybe.

“Not alone”. Screw you.

I am alone, and I’m man enough to own it.

You’re unlucky I have a temper, but you’re lucky that I control it.

Because if I didn’t maybe I’d be saying this allowed, instead of venting this to myself in my room underground.