Isn't it just so cliche
to sing to you my tale of woes?
And do I really have to say,
the words that everyone already knows?  

We've all had our heart break,
and all show the empathy.
But we all know its all fake,
and we really have no sympathy.

I may be sitting here and weeping,
and I know that you are just at home.
You're cozy in your bed and sleeping.
Though I don't know how you can, alone.

Listen to me, crying about the past.
Sob with me friends, if you will.
Perhaps true love isn't meant to last.  
But oh, dear friends, let's cry for it still.  

Individuals, yet all connected by this
pain so intense and incredibly real
but does it even really exist,
can anyone tell me, what's the big deal?  

I feel like my world has fallen to shambles
My heart and my soul are shattered and weak
So the right thing to do is sit here and ramble,
and tell you all to feel what I speak.  

And If you've never felt this way,
you're luckier than you could hope.
But I can guarantee you will one day,
and then you can join with me, and mope.

Because life is about love, and glory
and life is about giving it your all.  
We are all living the exact same story.
We all rise, and we all fall.

Maybe now, that limelight you seek

is not as glamorous as you once thought.

Nostalgia replaced with a shield of infamy,

infamy that doubles as shield and sword.

Your eyes grow green with beautiful

unrighteous envy, obvious jealousy.

You’d strike down your best friend to

glow like citric, pour out like acid.

I’m not sure if I know you from somewhere anymore.

I’m not sure if we’ve passed each other in bright lights,

or in dark rooms, or daylight, or barlight, or held hands

or narrowly escaped a world trying to pump us full

of *******. Now you’re just mean in spirit, as a cliche.

You’re Charlie Sheen by way of Kim Kardashian,

You’re plastic by way of cellophane.

If it’s hurts it’s only because I try as hard as you,

it hurts only because this time, I want it to.

You left like a jumping fish.
If I had blinked,
I would have missed it
and seen only
your ripples
left behind.

I am a fish out of water--
Cliché, I know
(heartbreak is so overdone),
but gasping for
something Forever
Out of Reach.

She is a flying fish,
a fanciful gift
nature blessed
to glide through your life,
because you had water
and I, empty air,
and she could wing
beside you,
both of you leaving
your ripples behind.

Words are just tools, or things to be used
they can make sense of the world, or leave you confused.
Love's just a word, so's beauty, perfection;
they once conveyed meaning of undying affection
but they're now overused, and so seem cliche
what good are words she won't believe anyway?
But say them I shall, just to let her know
that for me love means the same as it did long ago.