Sometime when I lie awake, and it’s cold and dark and still,

I can hear muffled voices, coming from deep within.

Of dreams unfulfilled, of promises unkept,

Of tales untold, and of thoughts unsaid.


I face the mirror, gazing into my own eyes,

In search of that candor, entangled in the web of lies.

I long for that beam, with which my face had once shone,

In place of this synthetic sheen, worn in the fear of being alone.

I walk down the forgotten lane, trying to resurrect dead memories,

To revisit the innocent laughter, recreate those beautiful sceneries.

I am met with no one, the lane is now a wretched wasteland,

It has all abandoned me, like through one’s fingers slips sand.

The dawn has cracked, my surroundings are filled with light,

I put on my mask, preparing for another wingless flight.

I leave my abode, hoping for the day to be endless,

I dread being alone with myself, cannot bear another night sleepless.

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