The tear in my heart,

may leave a life differentiated.

The love in my life,

will form a congregation.

In the back of my head,

a little voice says,

"It's time to grow up, instead."

The loss of a childhood,

released in the spotlight.

But I'll still sing our songs,

for the crave for long nights.

So I'll pick my daisies,

and leave them to decide.

"He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not."

But the problem was that,

the daisies were dead and crisp.

baked with an over sun-heated kiss.