I used to be in the center,
and I can't tell if those surrounding me
began to dissipate, or if I chose to leave.
The place that I used to go to
to get away
There's not much left to me and around me
Fading in the background, and I can't hold on.
I laugh at those clinging to youth and past.
As it's a painful parting, I deal with in silence.
Where will the summers go to?
Where will I, where will we go to?
Fewer and fewer unfamiliarities,
I get weathered maintaining
myself for someone or something.
There's nothing left.
I feel I never honed in or perfected anything.
I live a lonely chaos, headstrong and jaded.
Don't let the lights burn out.