The Last Love Song

silently we fall asleep to our own rhythms,

each one more persistent than the last,

and we're aching in our skins tonight

because we're someone's after-thought.

with wanderlust we crave the moon

because we're just the voyeurs

looking up for but a glimpse of white

amid a black blanket littered with holes.

tomorrow I could say, "I love you,"

to a room filled to the brim with mourners

who all bear broken hearts for Valentine's Day,

all from a world that doesn't admit them.

today I could offer my prayers and hopes,

but what do they matter in this grim world

where the rich eat the poor, the strong kill the weak,

and we're just craving words from strangers.

love songs, couldn't give a damn about them,

but maybe they're the last stars,

supernovas bursting bright and sure,

in a world that's forgotten how to love.