Empty-Handed

You’re always down side up

Smelling roses, filling empty cups

I’m always upside down

Seeing smiles as future frowns

 

You call it negativity, a fear of the sun

I call it realism, knowing too much

And I’m not saying you don’t know pain

You can be wet and claim there’s no rain

 

We are the opposites that repel

An exception to a rule that wishes well

You are the world and I am only

Enjoy imitation amity and I, my lonely

 

Am I a cynic for not believing in love?

So thought one who couldn’t wouldn’t prove me wrong

I’ve never been so displeased to be right

I miss the naivety of hope without sight

 

But what is the point of my thoughts and my words

After all, I am solitude; that’s how I’m preferred

And all of those people you claim I can call

Well, they chose you; there, you took it all

 

But the joke’s on you

Because I had nothing to begin with

 

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