62 (You Don’t)

Fireflies cry like dying stars
Waiting for one last chance at fame
By going supernova.
But the millions of cries at night are left unheard,
And of the desperate deaths,
None of them are noticed.

Cameras flash
Like those same dying stars,
And when the photos develop,
They are mere obituaries for memories
Long deceased.

I’ve always thought it strange that I
Get a little lonelier at night. But maybe
It’s because I can’t help but shed tears
Like those of the dying stars.

62 (You Don’t)

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