Lost Lights

Lost Lights 

~Miss A

We are the abandoned children, dolled up and pretty,

You see we have no lights on, we haven't seen any,

In the dark, knowing how the mice hunt for cheese,

We know truly how to live, that it doesn't mean anything.

For some people, sweet hearted bitter people,

Live amongst us, thier hears stoned and rusted,

And yet despite everything, they choose to smile,

They understand everything is vague, nothing is alright.

They see the cracks in our world, they see a lot,

This perfected place, looks glued up by robots,

It's holding up for now somehow, nobody knows how,

And are those codes lines, one shall not touch.

To understand it is stupid, live with it as it goes,

Or find the elixir, they understand there's no way out,

All this headache, and all this mess, just want to shatter,

Disrupt everything that is there, but the face goes numb and they smile.

That smile, with only a fraction of the eye, came and gone,

Everyone has a story to tell, but nothing that could stun,

Here on the top, feeling the breeze sweep in,

As far as the eyes see, a beautiful city brimming.

Lights from these tall buildings, stagnant and flickering,

Is there even a reason for my existence, or a poor made choice,

They say it's worthwhile, that it's worth living by,

And they may be right, but with the crescent mood fading, why?

Sometimes it gives hope, you and I, gives hope,

Yet no reason, and all it is, the rest, just bickering,

And flashes of life keep emerging, running and playing,

In the midnight, on the streets, in rain, soak in. 

Those mornings were good, wake up at 5,

Get ready, blasting in thriller songs, creeping in,

How do I explain it felt, full of adrenaline, sweet,

And it has but out cavity into my heart, aches.

Want to find a new meaning, something legal,

But what feels like no I should not, and breach that line,

Slowly, grain by grain, I see my hands red, my sleeve black,

Feel like a tree, watching its branches burn in the lights. 

Comparing ourselves to a thousand others,

Knowing it's absolutely bizzare and useless,

For to have an individuality like ourself,

Painted and dolled, is to bet others to reconsider.

Watching in those princess movies, shine, shimmer, glimmer,

We it now, cause growing up, we watched documentaries,

Of a flock of crows, peculiar shards of billiards,

From them we learn, light footing and synchronised breathings. 

Guinenely unimpressed and overtly social,

We cry in loneliness, fantasize in the dark,

With closed eyes we dream, everything real,

The ghosts just jesters, we fear seeing everyday run through.