The intentions of the night are obvious; it wants to steal my soul.
I walk the narrow city streets to the place I used to call my home.
The wind whispers passing gestures as my mind focuses on thoughts of you.
I am stuck in this night alone, with not an inch more room to self-destruct.
This is where I built my safety; in this hollow realm of written emotion.
Here, in this place, I am every one and I am no one.
You sure as hell did make me somebody, but I'm just somebody who nobody knows.
Because you know I'm only what I think of you.
And lately my thoughts are weak.
The dark sky rest its sturdy hand upon my eyes, desperate to make judgment.
Because I built my new home on the walls that you built around your heart.
And damn, it's cold here.
Your smile rests in the stars, mocking any bit of salvation I may once have found.
I am not desperate, I am only desperately wanting more.
Go ahead, tell me that I'm wrong.
I will keep my shelter in your dimly-lit streets.
The night will always be my last hope,
because the night is one thing that will never say goodbye.
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