It's so hard that my first thought
every single time I wake up
is you.

But it is even harder that
my next thought would always be
I miss you.

What do they call you when
You're not a lover
or a fighter?
What do they call you when
You chain smoke
On the balcony
And do nothing
But exist?

Not a lover or a fighter
No passion anymore
Just cigarettes and
Wine and books
And an empty bed.

I take all the bottles off
My nightstand.
6
One for forgotten lovers
Two for the eternal crack in the mirror
And three more because
I don't know when to stop.

Grey in a sea of vibrant blues,
Grey in a world of beautiful hues

so I sit here again and
tell these woes to
my pen because

No one cares about the one
Who chain smokes
On the balcony
And does nothing
But exist.

There’s always a still, before you take to sleep

When the mind goes blank, and you grasp the lonliness

And you feel the weight of the world, for a moment

And you can feel the collapse, in your lungs

Some call it awareness, others call it stress

Maybe it’s just reality

Path Path made of glass
Will you last
Or break as past
Time moves fast
Have your blast
Remember your
Path is made of glass
It may break
But that's the stake
It's not fake
It's up to you.
What you make.
Who knows....
It may never break.