She will not hear my song

I write this song for you,
No, I sing this song for you,
Yet, you don't hear the tune,
Your ears do not perk up at the soothing melody,
Your eyes do not shift in my direction in recognition,
Your heart is left unchanged,
I sing until my lungs give out,
And the soundtrack of my heartbeat becomes the anthem of my heartache.

I cannot guess what will impress you,
I cannot discern your highest desire,
It does not matter how much I learn about you -
From what irks you the most
To what makes your insides flutter,
Even if I could find what makes you turn inside out,
It doesn't matter if you don't even listen.

A click of the pen represents my impatient suffering,
The tip-tap scratch of every stroke is a bleeding emblem of my longwinded sermon of longing,
And all I can think of with every doodle of my dalliance
Is finding a way to woo, to win, to wake you to my existence.
What does it take, I ask you,
But not the real you but the you I see and can never get out of my shadow's side,
And all the world is a mere reflection
Of what I feel inside.

Give me an option, I beseech,
Multiplicity has its advantages -
Giving me at least a stroke of luck, a chance to show you how deeply I am distraught with the thought of having you slip through my sight, my fingers, my senses and all,
Even just an infinitely slim chance is better than absolute impossibility.

At least break my heart, then,
If you won't give me that chance.
I don't want to be stuck in this state of limbo the rest of my life.
I'd rather be shot down, left to die with a bleeding heart
That keeps bleeding till I die to this passion
So that I am purified, purged, cleaned of the overwhelming infatuation
That resides and flows through my veins.
Shoot me, you have the pistol in hand.
No, you have a rifle.
Shoot me straight and true, into my heart.
Make me die, please, if you will not even consider.

Then, my wound may heal.
My blood will be free from these bonds and will revel in its purity.
A passing moment will be just that - a passing moment -
Not a fleeting moment of lost opportunities.
I cannot stand living days of disappointment,
When every thought is of a letdown,
A sheer inability to follow through,
And I question my own worth,
And wonder why I am a masochist for love.

Melancholy is no escape from it all,
The numbing sadness is not an escape from the world,
Nor is it a respite from the unrequited feelings.
It is just a flip of the same coin,
And I don't want to play heads or tails -
I'd rather pay the debt and be broke.

I want you to see,
I want you to hear,
But if I can't do that, I'll do what it takes to be a friend,
As long as you shatter me first.
As long as you tell me straight and true
That it will NEVER be, it will NEVER be.
Give me a definite, an absolute,
I don't want relativism, I don't want generalities.
Tell me I have no chance,
Tell me to give up,
And I will be forced to move on,
And this impasse will no longer linger,
This brick wall will become a curtain of satin,
And I'll just have to break this window,
Walk across the broken glass with my bare feet,
Bleeding each step of the way,
But in the end, I'll be outside,
Free from this cage, this domicile, this bondage,
And I will be your friend.
I will put my all into your well-being,
I will be able to love you without looking for anything deeper,
I will be able to deny myself and all I want to give you what true service is.

This song may not be heard by you at all.
The tune may be mute, the melody may be discordant,
The words, the meter, all poetics indeed
Will be nothing more to you than a southwind's cry,
A wood grove's whisper,
And a sunray's blink.

I may be singing in vain, but it's all I can do.
Hollow me out, empty my heart,
The tread of the tires of my longing,
Need to be flattened, need to be shredded
During the high speed race on this track of fruitless pursuit,
I don't need a pit stop,
I need to step out of the track.

She will not hear my song.
She will not hear my song.
She will not hear my song.
How many time will I sing before she hears my song?

Which

I deny pursuit
Holding back my heart's appeal
It isn't working

Give in, surrender
Or guard the walls with restrict
In my own prison

Liberate the heart
Liberate the mind, which one
Both can lock my soul

Apple, Orange, Watermelon, Me?

The core of passion found in an apple bitten
Contains the seed of wondrous love forbidden,
Courageous, brazen, lukewarm lackluster unlimited,
Nothing holds you back, this is how desire is affiliated,

I peel back the flesh of the sour citrus of my soul,
It claims to be seedless, yet I choke on them all,
Careful now, don't hasten the unveiling,
A sting in my eye will be ever prevailing,

The hard rind of my outermost shell
Conceals the delicious delicacy that does compel
Me to be a love of many occasion,
The fruit of my heart prevents emaciation.