I am tired of the fake smiles,
The unreal laughs that follow the hoaxers,
Or even the fictional chuckles
That joins the audience after every heckle.
What can I do to not think about it?
When all I do is daydream about our hits.
Be it the homerun you made,
Or my favourite CD collections we played.
Be it your hands on my body,
Or my lusty voice that held you under my moans' custody.
How could I move on when this was all in my head?
When I had forgotten the learnings of how to move ahead.
No one was there to collect my tears on their shoulder,
But everyone to call me a hypocrite and act as a beholder.
Wish they knew how much I needed advice
Otherwise, I'd probably fly towards paradise.
I wish I could treat my heart the same way I treated others'
Applying therapy of famous psychologists merged.
Fight anxiety, fight depression.
How could I when it became my only obsession?