A lone ranger till the very end of this scarlet autumn does end
I know that from the heart now I will never be loved enough
Neither those greyish skies could hug me
Nor the blissful hortensias
Every breathing being seems like an ally to my most certainly congenial heart
Nevertheless, I am aware they are all here for a single second
With a tiny woeful flutter of my lashes,
They will all fade away into the graves I opened
I keep telling my soul to stop blossoming so colourful inside
No one can take it anymore and wants to crush its petals so hard
Intimidating, daunting and conceit are what the leaves look outside
I have got no one to blame for it which uplifts me not
I deem I ought to quit lying to my desperate poet essence
I may not seem naive nor a chirping sunn hemp for instance
Though admitting that to my most stargazer half of the soul
Feels like a potent step in a dumpster
Which I am frankly in for the longest time ever
A lone wolf is what a treasured spirit is
It comes in a huge pack and tries to find the less destructive way out all by itself
Though it hurts every time it thinks about its pack
The holy commanders had their fun already
The only thing that the wolf can do is swallow its fear and get used to the truth
Everything seems so utopianly delightful to me
Even in the most bitter times, I enjoy that sufferable bitterness
Even the death is my all-time favourite paragon
Yet why am I getting so unpleasantly complexful when I remember I am not lovable
Am I not thoroughly in love with my own being?
Or am I pretending?
What a sham, what a sham, what a sham.
I have no trust left for outside
Nonetheless, I have plenty of it for myself and
I vow that I will be inured that I am not quite endearing for anyone
It's better than all the lies I had been telling
All the lies I had been hoping…
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