Layla

I yearn for the arms of that lover. Maybe if she embraced me, it would all be over. These days just seem to get colder, though sober, no longer see the point. I don’t know what comes after her, maybe there won’t be mountains of fire, I won’t bathe in honey and fly in eternal desire. Maybe it will be silence, darkness, but oh how I yearn for it as I am tired. I am so, so, so heavy, by smiling with liars. What’s the difference if I’m crying, I am just like them, we’re simply wired. The reason why I riot, because I stand defeated, depleted of all emotions once heated. Perhaps if I was better, I’d be just as off. I keep rising, just to fall. And God too busy for me to call. Ungrateful, as all? So I have a desire, to at least close my eyes, a moment, lay my head and let the world carry me for a while. I often wonder, if they could see us beyond the clouds, if they’ve been watching us, all this time, is there really no desire to make us smile? But I’m not one to dream and feel at home in frowns, but is there no yearning to hold us down? To tell us it would be alright? Just to hold us in their arms? Nobody, nobody ever loves anything more than they love themselves.