We yearn for things we don’t have,
not for the things that we can’t.
But I am a fool that even the gods up above
cannot retrieve the insanity they’ve sent.
Carve a smile on my heart, this bright red apple;
trace the veins where flowers have bloomed.
Squeeze thy until it turns blue, it bursts purple,
for the love not for me, I consumed.
Am I insane? Have I gone mad?
But the problem is not with this head that I have,
but rather with this thing in my chest.
Your doe-eyes make it flutter and leap,
your sweet smile makes me too;
you stab me and kick me (you will not let me sleep!)
But I admit, it was I who left you.
I remember the times I would romanticize:
mornings, evenings, and noons.
You were, undoubtedly, a big part of my life.
I’m sorry I left yours so soon.
But her doe-eyes make you so happy, you leap.
Her sweet smile makes you too.
And after a while, the truth began to seep.
After a while, it damaged my tune.
I send my regards to you and your light.
I’m afraid I’ve wasted my throes.
I hope that you may finally be satisfied
as my true feelings are finally shown.
The world became dull once again for me;
I didn’t get to hear the song of the birds.
The night was quiet, and the light was then free
as my song sang its last words.
I yearned for something I don’t have
—something that I can’t.
For I am a man of which even the gods here above
cannot fix this thing inside my chest.
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