Everyday

The words have no meaning,

useless invention of men.

Your mother is calling, your voice is screaming.

The world becomes smaller again.

You are counting the days, the minutes, the memories.

You look at your hands, and there is nothing to hold.

You think really hard to make up some stories.

You look at the past and its cold.

You do not let go as the game is still on.

Your mother is the reason to smile.

There is always a day you will give upon.

Its the day that makes you worthwhile.

The road is long and you walk alone.

At the end of the road you are allowed to surrender,

but embrace the moment you feel juvenile.