Tell me about happiness, please
Because sometimes I just don't know
I over-evaluate the concept, by piece
When, in turn, I should just let it go

There is a hollowness, that exists within
Deeply intertwining the pieces of my heart,
The pieces exist only to try and convince
Others that I actually have a working part

If I say, that talking satiates the insanity
And radiate the pieces of my soul, 
That the eminence of the dawn draws integrity
Would it erase the fact, its just a show

I want to write a happy poem
I want to sing a new song, but it just doesn't 
exist
Maybe if I keep writing I'll keep growing 
I want to be happy, but something resists

© John Hayes