These days my smiles are little lies
that never can quite reach my eyes;
and no one seems to notice, no one seems to care,
but knowing what I’m worth, I guess disinterest’s fair.
My world of color turns to shades of black and gray,
and I keep on talking though there’s nothing left to say.
I could use a hug, a kiss, a look, a touch,
but I understand how that’s asking too much.
For giving isn’t easy and I hate to take;
I’d rather live with pretenses and smiles that are fake.
It’s not as though my life is hard – just simple and plain;
but living it has turned me into a desert without rain.
I, the loveless wasteland, have a feeling I can’t shake,
that if I vied for suicide there’d be no life to take.