It's been a lengthy span, and my joy has waned. Expressing it is a challenge, yet I yearn for one instance of mirth from days gone by.

I'm fatigued by my own musings, no longer wishing to feign. The realm of fairytales, though elusive, beckons me to taste a felicitous finale.

These moments are consuming me, I've ceased convincing my heart. It's implausible, but I crave a return to the inception, just once.

I sense myself descending, without a helping hand in sight. I struggle with articulation, yearning for comprehension, even momentarily.

I'm unrelenting on myself, bearing the scars within. I often converse with the moon, yet, just once, I desire to embrace the stars.

The echoes of my laughter are sorely missed, as this melancholy remains uncherished. I stand on a precipice of betrayal, dreaming of love, just once.

The same narrative replays each night, and I long to truly live, not merely survive. Though I wither internally, I ache for a taste of vitality, even if only once.
© Priyoraj