It is a story that is all too familiar,
To have lost what you held very dear.
What I hold now is just a smoking ember,
left feeling like it’s my own December.
Not knowing what else I can do, I walk ahead
I’ve ruined everything I’ve tread.
Sometimes I wish things were different,
Sometimes I wish I were a star,
And yet the only one I am is the star that falls.
The ache of a shattered heart weighs,
breaking just like a piece of a cold icicle,
The only thing that is left now is a bruise,
In a fall from Eden, so biblical.
You can call me a time traveler,
For everyone else has moved on.
Here I lay in my own emptiness,
Where it is always autumn.
Just like the dead leaves, I fall,
Dried up, golden, I crumble.
Did I at least give joy,
To those who stepped on me?
