What's the point in tears

when there's no one to wipe them all away?

What's the point in dreams when all they do is fade away?

I'm not going to lie

about how it feels good to cry.

I just want to be loved, is that so stupid?

So, strike them, oh, flying Cupid.

Hit two or three or four.

Hit me, hit some more.

Hit me deep, aim for my core!

Hit me until my heart is sore!

Fill the hole left in my heart.

Only you know where to start.

Will I ever find what they all seem to die about?

Or will I die in this dry drought?

I've been deprived of rain,

left lingering in pain.

Reserved for someone special.

One who has to be on my level.

Do not aid me, I can carry on like this for years to come.

But one day, the swirling void within me shall grow numb.

It will be reduced to but a crumb.

They shall have their sugar and I my plum.

And we'll live to die to go on again, together.

Until the non-existent end that actually lasts forever.

∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎∞︎︎

ద ద 𖦊 ꪉ 𐀔 𐃸 ద 𖦊 ʊ

༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ᜊ ༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

༒ ༒ ༒ . . ༒

ద ༒

༒ . ༒

༒ . . ᰔ

༒

༒.