The Star

My life is like a star in space,
aimlessly wandering around,
too shy to even show my face,
in case my hopes run aground.
I want to start afresh upon this chance,
but even now I know,
that no matter how I sing and dance,
the opportunity, I will throw.

I'm like a victim in a car crash,
trapped in an outcome they didn't deserve,
in the end I'll be strapped for any cash,
not even in the Government reserve.
I wish for things to once go right,
at least that's my intention,
but whenever I walk towards the light,
failure is my only invention.

I am a grain of rice in a bag,
waiting for someone to shop,
and despite how often they scream and nag,
I'll never be the cream of the crop.
As the coins roll around the shopping floor,
I wish for someone to pick me up,
but no matter how much I'm shown the door,
there's nobody there to fill my cup.

I am like the rubbish in a public bin,
cold, unloved, likely compactible,
and even if I refuse to sin,
my faults are never retractable.
For it's only ever myself to blame,
and despite the news people may spread,
I don't want glamour or fame,
it's the truth I want to shed.

One day I'll be a star that burns out,
emptied out, in it's final state,
and if at that point you scream and shout,
for this star, it's too late.