It is friday night and I am looking at a boy with brown eyes,
Two colourful orbs, whispering soft lullabies,
They swirl with fallen leaves and hidden ember
Keeping me warm on this cold night of November.

We are kissing and kissing in each shade and hue,
Tonight I can’t feel sorrow, for once i’m not feeling blue,
Instead, colors fill my night while our heart are dancing.
I am a kaleidoscope that will never stop spinning.

I had addictions which all appeared in colors,
Hands stained with red, purple knuckles that are sore,
Black holes in my head as I drank pink strawberry shots,
But also the absence of tints and the white of my thoughts.

This time, though, the thing that is flooding my brain
Is not the yellow of the granules soothing the pain,
Nor is it the pale gray of the smoke of a cigarette,
But the brown of your eyes I could never forget.

Don’t you dare stare away. Please don’t look down.
Tonight I am looking for hope and hope has the color brown.

I can’t stop looking at you
I can’t stop remembering you
The night is made of you, I think.
Hope is made of you, I think.

When I miss you too much, I wait for the night
I draw you star by star, in the cluster of timeless light
I throw your name to heaven as the dawn is delayed
Letting your portrait rests in each tint, tone and shade.


The universe is a spectator..
He knows who you are, I tell him about you every night.

And I know that you will think of it as another lies
But, the sky would be so sullen without your ebony eyes
You remind me that one can even shine by his absence,
The memory of your laugh still coloring my existence
You remind me some wonders should never be forgotten,
Even if tonight, the pain remain unspoken.

I do not love you for you to hold me,

I do not love you for you to come back to me,

But in the sky, every night, I draw your face before asking you,

Am i still someone to love you?

How can I forgive myself for all the things that I didn’t become?

How am I suppose to burry the happiest version of myself?

How can I find back my lost hopes?

How can I mourn my own death?

Is there a place for the tombstone of my dreams ?

Would someone pray for all the people walking around as if they were already dead ? Would someone pray for me?  

I feel like a ghost.
And I haunt my own bed since you’re gone.

I know that sometimes you feel a loss when you remember the salience of your bones when your skin was as thin as paper and you even struggled to drop on a chair.
And I know that from time to time you suffer from the absence of those days when you could look at a filled plate without touching it and call this effort a meal.
And I know you often think about those afternoons when you looked so dead that you held the secret hope that someone would come to resurrect you.

But the truth is, you seem to have forgotten the days when the bruises on your skin scared you and the days when you wiped your ****** mouth wondering if you were really becoming more beautiful. Those days when you were so cold that you couldn't touch anyone without startling them and those days when you couldn't stand up without seeing a multitude of spirals swallowing the world before your eyes.

The truth is, you forget that no one came to save you.

And I realize that sometimes it's still hard and that you’re still fighting, but I can not help but notice that bright glow back in your eyes and how your gestures are firm and your cheeks colored by life. And even if you break so often that you wonder why you should bother to keep rebuilding yourself , let me tell you that putting the pieces together is much more beautiful than the mere thought of you drowning yourself in a flood of alienating negativity once again.