Hardwood floors...
Reflecting nonsense
back at my battered mind.
A simple smile,
in all my inner disaster,
is all I ask.
Yet... My reflection
yields nothing.
That I'd like to see...
Maybe my hair can block my view.
So I can ignore myself.
My fake troubles
and self torment.
If I could die...
That would be a terrible
solution.
So many others would hurt,
so many others could care...
And my soul may cry
their tears.
Whether they be of sadness
or of joy.
My soul will cry.
Tears...
On the day I die.
