A concatenation of stars lined up
When I buried my face under the pillow
If I can't mend the life I failed to fashion
Whose tiny bit of it is taken for granted by peripheral nothings
I'd rather pretend to disappear from the face of the earth
Like throwing a javelin into the unreachable
I’m sorry mine doesn’t land anywhere
Because the javelin is flying among the constellation I can’t recognize
Unlike yours, whose tip of it stabbed right before my heartbeat
But it's nothing: it's a thing you do on a whim
I'm just an unfortunate shadow that passed amidst your solace
The sort you could finish once you're bored
The scars that are left unaddressed, too, won't matter
Now I’m bleeding all over
On the ground without bandages
You hand me none on purpose
So you can walk away slowly without me reaching
I’m bleeding all the while here
The remnant of your scars are inescapable
And I grow tired and inconsolable
But a concatenation of stars line up
When I bury myself under the pillow
