Falling, falling down
The water follows its rhythm

To, on the ground
The clouds, for all that’s written

in stone,
on paper,
with ink and pen.

Below, to know
to hear
the rain fall
the wind fly away,

away,


away,

and soon to seep into the ground

again.

My insides smell like
Cinnamon

But taste
like
wilted

flower petals;
Dry,
bland,
Dead, gone,
Desaturated colours
in my pupils

I melt into a pile of ash in
The ground

With the rest of the infertile soil,
With the insects
With the lush green grass
and the birds
and their nests full of twigs
And chirps
And songs
And hums
And sounds
That echo
That resound
That stay
That fly

With the sky.
Buried with my name.

Until it turns to night,

Then the
moon
and
stars

come out

And
I

Hide

A

W

A

Y

.

Sometimes, I look out at the world
and wish for something more.

Sometimes, I look out at the world
and wish for someone more.

I long for something out there
to make me
the vision of myself that I want to see.

But roads will wind and twist and turn.
There’s no way to go back,

I fear.
No way to change the person I’ve become.

A million regrets,
a million setbacks,
there’s everything that I would change.

I don’t know everything,

I don’t know anything,

all I know is I’m me.

And maybe

that’s all I need.

Happiness comes from
somewhere

far away


Happiness comes from
what the world could not stave

For I reach out to the light

but inside I find
nothing but a reflection
I face
no comprehension

and I reach out again
with

nothing;

in my hand,
my heart,
my soul,
my self,

unbeknownst of the answer
I already
held.