Agents of truth.
Are like detectives.
Picking apart the pieces trying to understand.
Why is it never enough?
My heart is but on a sleeve.
Where I beg to be open.
Trying to survive.
Energies to consume my very soul.
I just want to be whole.
Knowing what is true, and what is another's feelings.
Is it in my head?
Or is my heart misguiding me?
Why is the timing always at the worst?
I just want to feel alive.
Trying to believe.
It is not only I, craving a little more.
Not just a touch.
Or a kiss in the night.
But one where I may fly.
Free as a bird.
Entangled in a flame that consumes my very dreams.
Left to be hopeless.
As these tears hit my pillow in the night.
I just wanted what was right.
Where my passions don't leave me crazy.
In a maze of life.
I'm so tired of being hurt.
It's just a curse.
Bestowed upon my very being.
Where I am left to be alone.
Wishing another to believe in the magic that could be.