I wish I were him.

Oh look, it's him again.

As he walks by,

those moon-eyed eyes of yours,

trail behind his.

What's it like, spending time with him?

Bright eyes, red lips, pink cheeks, starry smiles?

And Here I sit alone, under a starry sky

awaiting my final call.

When I see him with you

my blood doesn't boil.

It just shrivels into lonely red dust

carried by the winds of time.

That hue you have around him

dims into a bright grim

when I'm around you.

It's as if a beautiful light was snuffed out by Prometheus

except Prometheus is me

and i stole my own light.

Does it matter? Has anything ever mattered?

We are but transient clouds.

We take form, we rain, we disappear.

The same monotonous, pointless existence.

And then you come along.

The dying embers of a fallen fire.

I reach out with the hope that you would too.

And yet here I am,

lamenting about a future,

where you won't be mine.