Well what do you have at the end of the day?
Aloof and alone with everything your way;
tired triumphs and empty victories,
hallmarks of your silly vanities.
Proud, haughty and cold,
feeling empty, growing old;
searching for some shred of meaning
in a life of advancing and achieving;
confusing friends for pawns,
getting it right while being so wrong.
My life is a ghost town.
Hope long since packed its bags and deserted,
leaving behind the weight of potential unrealized.
I sit in a saloon filled with why’s
slowly losing my grip on the lies,
succumbing to verity
in all its severity
while ghosts of relationships have me caught,
demanding me to be all the things that I’m not.
The well of emotion is dry,
as cold and empty as I;
these regrets replaced by wondering
what the hell has been happening
in this place I thought would be my life
but turned out to be just trouble and strife.
Disappointment written in your eyes,
you now know that I’m nothing but lies.
All my life I have wanted more,
I always knew my life would be a bore.
I pretend that I am someone cool,
but in the end I’m a melodramatic fool.
Shame and sorrow are all I have to give,
my empty heart is leaking like a sieve.
Well I’m not the kind of guy you want to hug and kiss,
and I’m not the kind of guy you’re likely to miss.
I just try to make you smile
and go for you that extra mile.
I’m not fragile but I’m easy to bend,
and if you want a free shot I will not defend.
This is me, a little boy;
trying hard to bring you joy.
You’re so busy I can see,
don’t have time to play with me.
I don’t want love, that’s too much,
but I could use a friendly touch.
I am fragile, sad but true,
need to hear kind words from you.
I just want a pseudo-friend,
someone to talk to in the end.
It’s ok to put me down,
as long as you still hang around.
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.