the lights that glow
the night
the fights that grow
i wish i had never gone

the pains that stay
that night
the lanes i cant erase
i wish i had never gone

What can I feel
When was the last one?
Did I miss it?
That kiss?
Of the time lost or
The memory

Is it gibberish or the
Sheen of taste left on the plate
The one you never see quite clean
The washer never worked anyways

Does time feel sadness too
Or does he live in his moment
Created
New
Blissful eternity
Yet momentary

Does she miss me in the end?

i dance, i dance
to my starry-eyed love song.
i dance, i dance
even in ash, we’ll sing along.

eyes and ears like cinder bricks,
their faces have known no hue.
and pretty, pure, wretched white flowers
vied for sun from the cracks in their skin.

“take root, child,” they whispered a lullaby
veiled in milky, murky convictions,
it’s a dead language the flowers sing,
their soles will batter all the ends of the earth.

undeserved, unfair, unending is their floral dance,
dust clung—desperate—to a serrated stem:
every swipe of the tender, silken dress
is a strike to their shaded, cavern cheeks.

we’ll dance, we’ll dance
to our teary-eyed love song.
we’ll dance, we’ll dance
to the song strung centuries long.

I'm your paradise surrounded by a drought.
Only you are mesmerized in the sunlight,
Unfortunately for you, you are about to die.
I can't save you,
Because I am a figment of your imagination.
I am the desert in disguise.
Dehydrating you with my lies.

Turning illness into a weapon never got me far.
Turning illness into art only glorified scars.
Turning illness into stories only got others sad.
I think that illness is the best friend that I have ever had.