Pat me on the head and say,

"Well, you're a very lovely, lovely little girl."

flick your wrist and give a

lock of hair a twirl and then you're gone again

and all I ever do it wait and wait and listen

and wait and listen and

I.

Could-- Fly. Unto the borders of insanity,

Worry. Until our doomsday party.

Hope. That maybe Icarus won't become me and I

take too much than I deserve.

The Sun assuming that I have too much nerve

and melting the glue from my hope into my eyes,

blinding and binding, it's no big surprise that my

schemes and my plans and my (hopes) that have died

and the mascara-tears that I've cried for.

It.

Here. I am, sitting in the valley, far below the sun.

Eyes are sticky-shut.

And I have much time to think and ponder.

No one has ever "won", per say,

You can only (hope) that your tomorrow is better than your yesterday.

Faith. Is something that we need to have.

And Hope, is something that we'd like to have.

The glue in my eyes, I believe it will melt.

Due to acknowledgment of the thoughts

and the feelings I have felt. And how

'sad' of me it is to assume that all that lies

ahead is gloom.

As I go to heaven to meet my groom,

"All the things I've never had.

All the times I never had.

All the sayings I wished were true.

All the lives I could've lived,

flashed before me in a whirl of sugar- coated realities

with rock-like coated severities of love.

And things.

Those, what did you call them?:

Those earthly things. (like love and losses)

Those lovely, lovely earthly things."