Pluck my phone from my pocket,
Due to the phantom vibrations.
An expectancy that everything will
Work out in the end; a promise
Shall become fulfilled and
I will never worry about that
Loneliness which shivers my bones
On December midnights.
I never seem to get what I want
Yet could only use someone to talk to.
A sense of importance to someone tends
To be the focus of the month.
There is nothing more to speak of, you are
Closing the door in my face and turning off all the lights.
No more smiles at screens, we'll make this
Count for
Something much bigger than
The list of friends we put on
Display for the world.
Throw my phone into the ocean,
I'm sick of phantom vibrations.
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