We yearn for things we don’t have, 

not for the things that we can’t.

But I am a fool that even the gods up above

cannot retrieve the insanity they’ve sent.

Carve a smile on my heart, this bright red apple; 

trace the veins where flowers have bloomed.

Squeeze thy until it turns blue, it bursts purple, 

for the love not for me, I consumed.

Am I insane? Have I gone mad?

Possibly, certainly—yes.

But the problem is not with this head that I have,

but rather with this thing in my chest.

Your doe-eyes make it flutter and leap,

your sweet smile makes me too; 

you stab me and kick me (you will not let me sleep!)

But I admit, it was I who left you.

I remember the times I would romanticize: 

mornings, evenings, and noons.

You were, undoubtedly, a big part of my life.

I’m sorry I left yours so soon.

But her doe-eyes make you so happy, you leap.

Her sweet smile makes you too.

And after a while, the truth began to seep.

After a while, it damaged my tune.

I send my regards to you and your light.

I’m afraid I’ve wasted my throes.

I hope that you may finally be satisfied

as my true feelings are finally shown.

The world became dull once again for me; 

I didn’t get to hear the song of the birds.

The night was quiet, and the light was then free

as my song sang its last words.

I yearned for something I don’t have

—something that I can’t.

For I am a man of which even the gods here above

cannot fix this thing inside my chest.