I had to blow the candles out,
Because the alarm would go off about them.
„So sensitive, way too sensitive“,
My muted voice mumbled.
I loved my candles so much,
The same candles
That triggered the alarm.
The way how they brightened up
this quite, empty, sad room.
I loved how they danced
With their own shadows,
Hand in hand.
But this damn fire alarm
Was too sensitive.
It ruined this one, calm, bright moment
The silence and I had shared.
Am I talking about the fire alarm or myself?
We’re both too sensitive, I guess.
Too fragile in a world
Where you can burn whole cities
Without even alarming anyone with it.
We’re all used to the burning,
„You’re worried about the ashes
That are piling up in your own heart?
You’re desperately longing
for the life you’ve always wanted?
You’re sorry for all the people who suffer?
Sorry for yourself?
Oh, grow up, kiddo.
That’s just how the world is.“
But here I am,
Sorry for them.
Sorry for myself.
It’s just me and this fucking alarm.