Why?
Do we always want so badly
What we will never have?
Like stars in our pockets
Or the dreams we have at night.

Sometimes I pretend
What I want
Is all the lies
Consuming time
Of too many thoughts.
Then I lose them
As if they were never mine.

But then I fall asleep
And I fill my pockets with stars.
I am catching them there as they fall.
On my lashes
And my lips.
These will always be my secrets
Resting here in the silent night of my lonely finger tips.

Maybe tomorrow
In daylights grace
I'll empty my pockets.
And all the stars
Will grow so BRIGHT
And explode and implode
For all to uphold.

But why?
Can't I have what I want?
Maybe because
There is a hole in my pocket.
And rest comes easy at night
When you dream of what is just a might.