When I look beyond me
there is no one else but me to love,
and I find it so vain.
I want to shout, I hate you Narcisse.
Grooming myself is a torture,
because as my face looks more and more like me,
I can't help but thinking why
I don't see you beside me in the mirror.
Every bit is so hard to swallow,
because fueling this life can only make sorrow deeper,
longer and happiness feels like a more and more distant memory.
Anything I do I wonder what for,
as I know it will not bring you back,
the shining lamp that casted warmth over my future.
I thread the limbs in the dark, so lonely.