I can't remember,
Remember a time,
A time when the world seemed so clear.

Following the footprints in the sand,
The footprints left by those before me,
Those before me leading me to the future they've built for me.

I am not happy with it,
Happy with the future I'm expected to greet,
Greet with Open arms and claim as if I worked for it myself.

I am not the person I have been lead to be,
Lead to be in the hopes I will end up like you,
Like you to bear the torch of compliance and mediocrity.

With Chissel in hand I will change it,
Change the future and carve the stone anew,
Carve the stone anew and leave my own footprints in the sand.

Living life on a string,
I sat on the shelf above the wood carvers bench.
I stare out the window as a shooting star fades into the night sky,
It flies away, it has no strings, unlike me.

I was a popular toy,
The woodcarvers favourite in fact,
he would always show me off to the boys and girls,
a tap of the foot, a tip of the hat, the usual evening act.

He doesn’t play with me anymore,
He hasn’t for a very long time.
He’s been under the covers of his bed,
I’m afraid he’ll never wake up.

The room is often dark, damp and very cold,
The wood of my body is starting to splinter and mould.

A rotten stench fills the room and floods my nose,
A vase is filled with rancid water and a single, wilted rose.

I try to move but my body is as stiff as a board.
I try to call for help but my mouth does not open.
The paint that was once my eyes has faded away,
Blinding me in one eye, but I can still almost see the sky.
The speckles in the dark,
The stars in the great abyss,
What secrets do they hold,
Are they like me, do they got old, do they have strings like me?
The question bounces around my empty shell.

Another blink, a flash of light,
Pierces the sky with its mighty flight.
Followed by another, and another, and another
And another…

The sky filled with beams of light,
Stars travelling freely through the night,
No strings to hold them back.

A creak, a crack, and a fall.
The shelf had finally succumbed to the rot,
And with its contents, I begin my descent,
The cold dark floor below me making its approach.

Fear should have gripped me,
But instead, a warmth filled its place.
Is this how the stars feel when they fall from the sky?
It feels almost… peaceful.

I feel for the first time in a long time,
Like I can smile.
Falling with the stars,
I can’t help but feel happy.

There are no strings on me…
I am free…

Life is a circus,
And the bigtop is nowhere
To be found.

Cars flying by like Airplane’s in the Night

Create a stream of colour, like an ocean of Light.

Firefly backlights swim on a toxic cloud of Blight

Leading me down their path of Flight.

I- Oh, the path is closed.

End of the Road.

It's ringing,
Ringing in my ear.
It doesn't stop,
It just keeps ringing.
Ringing, ringing ringing.
I can't,
It's doing the,
It,
Ringing,
And it won't stop.

I am Breathing
I am Playing
I am Feeling
I am Loving
I am Caring
I am Funny
I am Talented
I am Creative
I am F̷̦̦̣̉è̷̫̣͆͜á̷̫̈͠r̶͉̞̦̿f̵͔̫̻̄̓͘ṷ̷̰͍̕l̷̮̔͠
I am Smart
I am Adventurous
I am Curios
I Ç̷̨̟̋̈̾a̴̭̎̔̌n̴̡̦̕'̸͉͕̦̮̅̐̄ť̴̼̝͎́̀͌ ̷̙͙͛͐͝B̷̢̼̊͛̂r̸̫̼̐e̷̝͈̞̊̈͊̍a̸̛̞̻͈̟̍t̶͍̙̗̮̏h̴̡̯͔̙͌
I want Love
Ń̴̛̛̳͓͙̖ó̷͓̜͚ ̵̦̀͋ŏ̸͎̗͍n̴̥͚͔͆̂̊͜ĕ̶̛̙̈́̓ ̶̢͙̙͚̈́͛̏L̷͚̫̉͑̾o̶̲͐̽v̴̳̖͐͋é̶͎͚͔̘̏͠s̵̗͉̥̅̇̀ ̷̛͖͌̔M̷͔̮͒̇͒ę̵̪̜͎̉̆
I want Family
Ṫ̴̹h̵̻͆ę̶͌y̷̰̔ ̵̘̈́a̴͎͛l̸̻̂l̵̗͗ ̴̼̔H̸̹̓ḁ̶̊t̴̥̀e̸̼͝ ̵̣́M̷͛͜e̴͍̓
I am Ḍ̸̈a̶̮͝n̴̼̈́g̴͕̈́ȩ̸́r̷̞̀o̸̦̽ǘ̴̠s̴̫̾ ̴͈̊
I am Ü̵͖ñ̵̤l̶̳͝ò̴̗͆v̸̟́́e̶͖͂̓d̶̡̀̎
I am H̸̨̎i̶̢͗ḏ̷͐e̶͈͑ó̶̭ǘ̸̩s̷̜̽
I love Someone W̸̟̊h̶͕͠ő̸̰ ̵̹́I̶̤̚ ̵̼̾S̶̯̈́h̷̊ͅȍ̴̗ų̷̓l̵̮̋d̸̺̈n̶̯̂t̶̠͂
I save People B̸̭̥͖̍̽y̵͙̪̟͂ ̴̢͖̈́̉̎p̷̙̪̍̏͠u̷͙͝s̶͚̺̿̓ḧ̴̝͍́̎ì̶̛͔̰̣n̸͎̬̥̉́g̶̻͉͇͊ ̸̢͖͂t̶̯͕̓̇h̵̼͈̓̔̃e̶̼̿̔m̵̻͇̰̉̑͝ ̵̳̰̦̔̉͝a̸̡̿̆ŵ̷͎a̸̺͂y̵̧̨͇̽͗́
I help my friends B̸͚͍̗̈́y̸̩͘ͅ ̵̘̭͑͂͐ḧ̴̠́͝ǘ̸̫̇ŕ̵̗̎̕t̵̝̰̾̕i̷̩͈̿͘͠n̴̤̒͆͝g̷͙̻̐̐͜ ̵̼̼̲͂͆m̶̡̮̅͛͊y̷̤͍̻̒s̴̢̄ȇ̸̖͇̮̊l̷̐ͅf̸̮́ͅ
I seek Happiness B̷͉̫̤̀̽̿u̷̠͑́t̶̨̝̐̀͠ͅ ̷͚̮̲̇͆̽f̷̱͇̜̌͛͑i̸̺̎͝n̵̥̗͚̄d̸̟͂ ̴̡̮͑̽͜o̶̮̓̐̍ņ̷̯̊̃ḷ̷͓̥̃͛y̸͉͖̞̅ ̸̀̈́ͅS̴̛͚͓͈͂ą̴̂d̶̤̆̑n̸͓͆ė̶͈̰s̵̪̣̥͛ŝ̷̞̩̈́
Ȉ̶̺͔ ̶̟̼̯̽̈́̒ä̸͓̰͚̕m̴͉͚͚̒̈́ ̴̨̦͗N̵̮͛o̵̳̝̹̕t̸̰̃h̵̫̟̪̉̊i̸̞̅n̴̠̮͐̋̏g̵̣̥̾̕ I̷͑̊͜ ̴̭̘̎̾a̶͚̦͚̿̈́m̸̧̖̆̌͠ ̴͙͙͊͝W̸̻̑͗̀ẹ̶͎͌a̶̰̓̀̾k̷̫̖̊̓ͅ
I̵͍̞͍̫̱̩̗̟̗̠͒̽̎̑̏͒̽̈́̓̋̚͜ͅ ̷̫̥̺̣͍̹̭̤̥̩̬̘̦̳͚̟̍̋͋̌̈́͘͝a̵̱̻͓̠͈̤͍͚̼̞͚͔̿̓͐̈́̿͜͜m̴͙̃̓̌͊̈́̄̈́̀̐̅̓̌̊̕̚͠͝­̨̜͚͉̥͔̗̞̹̗͇͕̘ͅ ̸̧̢̯̤̥̩͍̭̭̫̰͓̣͇̌̽̓͆̃͌̈́̃̿̚ͅM̴̩̹̦͓͇͔̳̖̭̣̪̄͂̿̀̿͗̽͐͗͗i̷̾͂̎́̋͑̽̀͒̑̈́͘͝͠­̡̭̗͇͖̲̜͎̺̼͇̳͈͌̊s̵̡̢̧̰͓̯̥̬͔̺̣͇̬̝̋̈́̏̓̒͋͂͛́̿͒̅̔͠͠ȩ̶̮̲̭̦̰͙̩̩̬͎͙̝̳̀̈r­̸̼̻̫̋a̵̧̟̥̗͕̜̘̱͉̤͚͕̐̓͂̄̈́̿b̷̛͉͔͇͔̙͙̫́̊̇͒͒̄͐̊̌͋̉͒̌̄͘l̷̈̆̅͗̐́̊́̽̀̈́͘͝­̫̭̦̲̪̱̈́ę̷͓̜̙̭̮͚͔̺̩̠͉̿͒́̏̉̈͊̔͐̕͜͝ͅͅ ̵̪̠̘͉̹̣͕̝͔̗̜̟̮̼̭̂̏͜I̴̲̲̜̗̠̮͖̺͋̀͑̍̅̊̌̾̉̾͑̍̊̃͝͝ ̷̢̢̥͔͚͍̹̹̟̿̓̀͘͜ͅā̴̈́͋̈́̃͗̚̚͜ṃ̶̢̢̻̝̬̹̙̬̫̎́͂́̐̀̀̌̓̋̅̎͊̚̚͜ ̸̱̪̞̟͇̮͈̠͚͇̭̓̌̎̀̎̍͜͝ͅP̷̛̗̽͊̎̍͋̀͂̀̕ă̷̰̭͈̭̎͌́̒͒͑͌͊̀̐̋̓͘͠ẗ̶̯̗̯́͒̎̂͠­̧̨̣̠͕̼̭̭͇̮̹͜h̸͖͇̙̮̙̃̏̈̒͒́̊̾̀͑̾́̑̆̈́e̶̤͙̦̗̥͔̋̋͑̃̕͝t̴̮̣̱̲̟̅̄͛̋͛̾̇̚̚͝­̭̝̜̞͇̘͔i̶͈̻͇̬͖̩̓̋̀͑͝c̶̲͔̥̯̖̝̹͈̙̼̓͜͝ͅ ̷͕͕͕̣̦̺̙̲̳͖̟̮̩͍͔̪͖̈́̏͂͗͗̒̐͒̋̾̽̿̓Ì̵̢̱͎̮̯̼͉̦̖̭͈͎̰̯͆͛́̓̓͊̏̋̎̑͑͛͝ ̷̡͕̘͈̣͍̗͖̺̖͖͌̓̀̔̽̄̓̀̈́̍̚̕͜͠a̶̯̣̬̖̾̌̃m̸̡̥̌̐̍̒́̀̔̾͌͘͝ ̵̢̧̜̤͚̻͉̹̜̾͂͌̾̑L̴̛̝͈̪̱̦͖͕̝͔͎̞̠̈͋͊̐̀̒̾̀̈̈̕͘͜o̸̡̲̠͎̍͌̈́̽̒̌̿͌͌͂̽̾͗̆͝͝­͈n̶̨̠͍͓̞̪̲̫͖͉͉̯͍͖̂̆̇̄̌̈́̐͂͘͜͜ȩ̶̡̻͖̟̬͕̬͓̣̑̃̂̌͌ͅͅḽ̵̨̫̟͚̱̮͈̝̼͕͇̇̈y̷­̢̻͓̱̙͇̭̳̦̲̅̏̒̓̿̋̃̊̎̚ ̵͕̄̋͋͑͒̕I̴̞̱͈͖͚͙̩̱̞͍̥͂̈́͂̉̓̎̕ ̶̣̖̬̼̤̝͊̅͗̊̚͘ă̷̡͖͈̳̠̳̯̖̤͚̱͇m̸̛̳͔̥̜̗̒͐̊̌̋̃̄͑̔̋͌ ̴̩̬̂̿̈̇I̴͚̳̪͉̣̗̯̭̘̟̣̎̃̋̀̂̈́̍̾̊̄̾ͅn̷͍͇͈̥̞̭̻̯̙͕̠͚̻͉̑͌͊̿̓͒̊̏̄̅͌̕͘͠͝͝c­̶̙͓͉͚͓̪͍̺͇͚̤̯͇̳͔̱̣͌̓̇̅̿͛ą̵̟̜̲̝̗͍͈̝̻̙͒͐̚p̶̱̺̲̭̯̹̮̈́͆̓̀̋̅̽͂̔̔̂̄͆̂͘͝­͕ͅä̴̞́̍b̷̡̛͎͉̱̟̯̗͉̺̭̂̓̋͒̇͋l̷̯̊͗̑͂e̴̮̺̣̫͓͓͉̻̻̝̭̤͚̖̖̅̓͛̃̃̈́̒̿͗̾́̀̉̇͝­͖ ̶̧̢̯̜̻̫͙̱̻̥̠͓̒̾̈́̒̿͒̇̌̚͠͠͠Į̸̨̨͙̻̥̰̤̯̱̫̺̦͂̐͛̀͠͠ ̴̢͔̭̝̏̈́̾͋͊̒͂͊̾̇̆̂̌͜͠ͅẃ̸̧̧̡̹͎͙̰̮̘̳͉͖͚̗͙͛̽̿̾͋͋̚͜͜͝ỏ̷͂̇̓̿̽̔̇́̚͘̕̚͠­̧̢̪̼̦̲̼͓̭͎̝̮͈̦̯̼n̶̛̪̺̓͂͑́̑̈̋̑t̷̨͖̥̥̼̦̠̪͔̫̩͙̔́͊̏͛̚ ̷̨̤͎̬̽͌͋̿̏̽̓̀̂́̆̌̉Ş̷̛͒͒u̴̝̾̀͐̏̿̚͘͝ŗ̷̱̫͚͈̩̦̙̰̲̩̫͉̿ͅv̴̧̼̎̂̓̑̋͛̋̆̋­͎̱̩͈̝͙i̵̞͉̦̾̿̅̍͗̀̓̾͘͘͘͝v̴̡͖͍̪̟̘͇͕̥̫̈́̂̇̄̋̃̇̾̅̀̓͆͂͘̚ͅe̸̻̳̥͒́̇̿̎̄̇̃͜­ ̴̪̟̥͎̻̝̻͎̀̌͒̍̾̇̓́͂̎͒͘̕̕͠͝͝Ĩ̸̻̹̲̣̜͓͕̯̻̙̹̋͂̀̉̏͆̚͜͠ͅ ̷̯̥͓̻̠̫̻̘̜̇͗̇̉͂̽͋̋͑̈̌̐̒̈́̎͘͜w̷͍͚͑͑̐̋̏͂͆̽̈́̃͊̽̅͗o̶̧̥͚̟͙͉͈̱̦͎͓̫̰̺̾̉̉̍­͇ń̷̨̟͊͊͂̀́͠ţ̴̗̰̰̦̱̞͕͓̗͐̓̆̉͗̎͋̊͜͝ ̵̜̰̲̀̆͋͊̂̌͐͘͠Ş̸̡̛̯̜̭̘͈̦̩̗̱̟̀̈̒́̂͝ṷ̴̡̡̡̫̤̦̬̞͇͉̥̠̣͚͈̦̾̄͆̂́͋́͗̚͝c̴­̛̗̋͊̏̎̐͌̈̾͗̒͘͘͘͠c̴͙͙̪̦̯̪͂͐̽e̶͍̮͕̙̠͇̟̻̲͈̖̒͊̈̊̃͊̆̎͂͛̈̽̍͘͝͠e̸͂͋̿͌͊͘͠­̧̰͚̤̳̺̻̗̭͑͌́̈́̚͝d̶̬̏̕̚͝ ̴̡͕͍͔̥̙̣̣͕̼͍̃̂̈́̎͒̊̈͊̒̆̀̉̆̑̇̚͝ͅI̶̡̖̞͍̟̥̙̝̭̲̗͝ͅ ̵͙̟̤̜͖̈́͊̀͒͐͛͌͊̀͘w̸̨̧̨̩͍̪̲̹͇͎̱̜̩̣̭̲͚̓̉̓͐͆̒̎̒o̵̥̥̬̪̯̮͐͗͛̍͆̆͋̈̆̂̕̚͠͠­̡̨̨͖̺̦͉͜n̵̢͍̼͙̦̼͖̠͈͓̗̺̮̙̎̔̄͒̋̌̂͆́̍̏̀̀͜͠͝͝ͅͅt̸̬͙̻̖̯̫̞̙̲̝̜̫̫̓͝ ̴̩̟̞̻̠̹͎̥͛̒̂̌͋̾̄͊́̌b̸͙̝͎͈̻̪͔̹̯̫͎̠̹͔̮̀̅́̈́ͅe̵̹̙̤̠͈̮̩̻̺̔̇̿͜ ̸͚̿̏̽̄̋̐͋̚͝M̸̟̼̱̼̮̍̓̈̑̀̽͒͒͌͘̚͝į̸̥̠̼͍̥̱̣͙̙́̈́͂̋̊s̸̰̓̄̍̉̂̓͒́̓͑͛͗̆̀̕­̡͇͈̬͉͙̣̜͍͈̼͜ͅş̷̛͓͇̗̥͑̀͋͆͂̐̋̓̎̽e̴̢̹̞̙̫̔͒̿̾̾̓͑͂d̷̨̰̹̼͚̦͕̲͋̓̊͌̍͛̐͘ͅ­ ̶̧̥͓̻̲̰̲͙͙̓̍̀͋̍̆̓̀̈́̿̂͆̂͝I̵̡̧͙̪͖͈͚̜͙͇̗̯͗̎́̄͘͠ ̵̧̧̘̦̮̭̲̪̝̪̳̲̞̦̇͛͒͂͜c̴̡̲͕̖͍̼̗̬͍̿͐́͊͒̈́̂͐̍̚͝a̸̛͓̙͋̒̈̒́̀́͆̊̓̀̈́͘ǹ̵͐̏­̢̨̢̢̦̲̺͓̮͍͖̫̉͛͆͆͝͝ͅẗ̷͍͇͇̭͚͉͈̠̰̟͍̼̖͐͋̿̅̈́̽̈́̏̽̈́̿͜͠ͅͅ ̶̠͔͍͕͇̠͗͌̄̀̀͑͂̀̈́̑́̍̅͂̓͝E̴̢̙̺̫̟̖̣̼̮̥̪̣͛͗̅ŝ̶̥̘͉̦̬͎̘͚̬̩̳̣͗͌̀͘͝c̵̒̍͗­̗̞̫̮̖̘͎͒̋͆a̷̱̝̦̓̓͒͂͐̈̓͌̐̈́p̴̰̳̼̝͇͙̈́̈̀͊͌͋̒̑͆̓̑͐͑͊̕͝ḝ̷͉̌̌̋͋͐̒̉̒̂͝ ̴̨̧̜͙͖͔̹̜̲̗̟̰͓̝̿͑͆̈́͒̽͛̔̈̇́̋̓̎͝͝͠I̷̮̻͚̗̫͕̭̅̐̏̚ ̸̢̨̰̠͙̣̝̤̲̜̰̦́͛͆̀̆̿̈́́̓̓͗͜͠ą̴̧̛̞͕̯̫̥̤̞͎̟̀̃m̴̢̛̳̩̩̝̄͒̈̓͗̎̎̃͋̐̚͜͝͝ͅ­̩̩ ̴̙̬͔͓̤͕̞̼̗̜̹̉̓͌̄́Ḏ̶̼̥͐͛͐͋̌̈́̓͋̎̎̌̕͝ê̸̥̝̜͆̾̆̋̾͛̒̈́̃̈́͘͜͝͝͝a̶̅͗̀͌͊͒­̣̣̱̫̻͊̏̑̀͝͝d̸̥̹̹̫̮̞̠͖̻̦̠̄͑̈̀̚



But even so I...



I̵͈͆ ̸̯̏d̶̳͊ȍ̴͖n̷̐ͅ'̶̣̊t̵̡̕ ̴͓͐ĥ̵̫a̶̡̕v̴̒ͅe̶̫̕ ̴̝̈È̶̗x̴̭͗c̸͖͂u̵͋͜s̷̗̋ȇ̸̬s̵͓̅, I have Reasons
Ĩ̶̪f̵̱̔ ̷͈̂I̷̩̚ ̷͚͌m̷̬͗a̴̪̎ḵ̵͗e̵̩͘ ̸̥̉ā̴̗ ̴͈́Ṁ̸̱i̵̧͌ŝ̵̝t̸̯̕a̸̝͝k̶̤̿ę̷̿ I Apologise
Ì̷̙f̸̼͝ ̵͋ͅI̵̗͐ ̷̜́h̶̠́a̶̮̅v̵̢͊e̸̙̕ ̷̯̈́a̵̔͜ ̸̮͋P̶̣̈r̴̥̈́o̴̘̓b̴̛̳l̴̬̕è̸̻m̷̥͗ I try to Fix It
I̷͈͂̓f̴͕̹̎ ̸́̋ͅŝ̸̞̌ö̵͚́͠m̵̤͛ĕ̸̗̼͠t̵͔̂h̷̩̔i̸̛̗͜n̴̹̒ǧ̷̱͝ ̶̨̒i̸͚̊̑s̵̰̆͠ ̴̫͕̿̒ṭ̸̎͜ơ̶̠͐o̶̧̻̔ ̴̖̩͆́D̸̺̏͜i̵̩̭̓̔f̴̛̙͠f̷̺̭̅i̵̩̗͛͂c̷̼̓̿ư̵̧͓̚l̴̞̊ț̸̓̒ I try even Harder
Ĭ̶̡̗f̶̯͝ ̶͕̺̇Ï̸̙̘̽ ̴̪̌͐ā̷̠̻̕ḿ̸̜̪̕ ̷̻͂̅ͅS̸͌͜a̴͔̥͑͝d̸̤̝͂̊ I search for Happiness
I̵͎͂͜f̴͔͘ ̶͚̺͂I̶̫̔͑ ̷̨͈̃a̶̧͑m̸͖̳͝͝ ̴͕͌͘i̵͈͜͠n̷͎̋̾ͅ ̸̛̖̏D̵̻̞͗â̶̹̒ȑ̵̗̦ḱ̷̨n̶̦̎ẽ̶̛͖̘s̸̳̓̍s̶̤͔̐ I search for the Light

I can see my I̷̢͛s̸̰̿s̷͖̎ǔ̸͍e̶̖͑s̷̲̚
I don't ignore my P̴̧͋ȑ̷͈o̵͍̍b̶̘̔l̸̝̈́e̴̛̻m̵̬̃s̷̯̈
As Ṉ̴̼̈́̋ę̸̩̉g̸̘̥̓a̶͍̰̓̀t̷͕̙͊͠i̶̤͋͝v̵̩̣́̑e̴̛̼̝ as I may Be
I can't stay Ä̵̯́s̵̜̏h̶̼͝ä̷̻m̷͉̊e̸͓͝d̷͇̔ of myself for the things I can't Ć̶̡o̷̥̾n̸͔̑t̴̟̓ȓ̴̙o̷̢͝l̴̤̋
In the End that's just how I was made to Be

Ȋ̷͉ ̴̼̃a̵͈̒m̵̦͆ ̸̺̈́M̷̼̃ẹ̵̚

I'm stuck here,
in this place,
in this in-between,
in this Gray.

There is no light,
there is no dark,
I'm not anywhere,
but I'm also not nowhere.

I stare into a shaded sky,
it's end unforeseeable,
it's depth unimaginable,
but it's presence growing stronger.

It's quiet here,
but it's not silent,
like someone with words to say,
but not the voice to speak.

I'm neither cold here,
nor am I ever warm,
the Gray envelops them,
both the night and the morn.

I'm stuck here,
in this place,
I'm starting to fade away,
consumed by this world of endless Gray.

My face lies flat on the concrete floor,
A torrent of blood oozing from my nose,
The winter air nips at my skin as the snow starts to build upon my back,
I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

It’s the end of the day,
And the beginning of a new,
From one pain to the other,
I will make it through.

The fluorescent lights draw me in, A sea of wonder that captures the crowds gaze,
The world seems so bright in otherwise dark times.

The boiling water
Sloshes around
In the mug,

Dissolving the coffee
grains into a
Pool of liquid luxury.

As the mug touches my lips,
Letting the bitter sweet
Coffee trickle into my mouth,

I remember how good,
Despite my problems,
I really have it in life.

The rain taps on my window,
As the light from the tablet shines on my face, I stare into the dark recesses of my room.

The rain taps on my window,
My mind drifts off, and in that time, I wish that you were here with me.

The only company I have with me tonight, to remind that I am not alone,
Is the rain that’s tapping on my window.

I dream

of you

In a restless sleep.

I  d
       r
          i
            f
               t

away into nothingness,

and dream of what could have been.

The words I write mean something to some people, and nothing to others.

But it isn’t what people hear from my words that matter, or how people see me because of them, but what those words mean to me.

Eyes in the dark stare at me, they pretend not to look when I notice them.

What scares me more, the fact that I do not know who the eyes belong to, or why they look at me with such intense hate?

I won’t be sleeping tonight, as I fear I will never wake the morning to come.

The eyes in the dark stare at me, and I pray they remain as such.

A singular feather falls from the heavens,
landing on my head.

How lucky am I to have witnessed such an event,
Blessed by the finest feather of an angels wings.

I often dream of porcelain skies,
It’s smooth and fragile surfaces enticing me to thoughts of better times.

With a glass hammer I break the sky,
And, as the hammer breaks in my hand and tears at my flesh, I dye the porcelain a deep crimson red.