Tears flowing like the river, towards the bigger picture dropping off my nose,
landing on whatever is below, at the moment the tear decided to leap,
soaring down until it's soon death, for that one moment of downfall,
the tear becomes a teardrop, instead of simply water running from an eye,
tear drop gets to live, for that one moment as a drop,
just as quickly as it starts, the moment has passed with contact,
some soak into pages, live with the notebook as a fair exchange,
they all have their own story, together they tell of a single life,
I wish I had someone, that would help me cry,
coughing is losing its ability, so why can't someone make me cry,
hard to believe words would come out, since as myself I should be happy,
I haven't been home, since April 7 when I returned from Cali,
so once I return again, I will pour lemon juice in my wounds,
but where have the wounds gone, to simply just walk by,
and a girl to walk to, but distance and fear keep me behind the fence,
please do not be that someone, to finally make me cry.