I'm lost, like in middle of an ocean and I'm not the only one blue.
My heart suffers;
It has been in distress for quite.
For long I've know, it has been naive.
Naive - to not know what it wants.
The deepest desire is vague.
The shallow dreams are my nemeses.
Everything that falls picture perfect is not the painting on my wall.
My plate is full of stone, maybe boulders and rocks, but who hasn't?
To keep up with this audacity of living happily and lost, is suicide with no death.
But maybe the birds will sing song for me once, they always have to.
Maybe one day I'll know, what I want and existence will know new meaning.