I picture myself on the grass, alone, talking to the stars,
Hoping that there is something for me that won't require travel to Mars.
My thoughts clash like the gladiators of Rome over what I want;
The stars act as my confidant.
The road before me forks in two
And which path I want, I haven't a clue;
Both seem to be what I picture,
But it's a contradicting mixture.
In one, I see myself in bed with another, chatting until morning.
That wouldn't stop us though, nevermind the yawning;
The intertwinement of our souls would reassure us that we'd be alright
Even when things get bleaker than the blackest night.
Further down that path, I see us in suits, swaying on a ballroom floor.
I'd press my head against his chest and thank myself for opening the door.
We'd start with dogs and then adopt. We'd be the coolest dads by far!
And we wouldn't care what anyone thinks, we are who we are.
The next path depicts me being free to do what I want,
Capturing all my wildest ideas in font.
My art would be my lover, and I would dedicate everything
Just so it could belt and sing.
Something would finally understand me completely;
I'd be immortalised in my graffiti
And in the minds of those I helped save,
So I'd never commit to a grave.
All these options in life and these are the two I'm torn over.
Would they even work? I've never been the best at picking clovers.
I'll figure it out soon, somehow...
The stars will hold my hand for now.
