I imagine you to be a quiet person.
The socially awkward one, the one who likes the thought of being thought of as a thoughtful person, but one who ends up blurting out something irreversibly stupid.
I imagine you to be romantic, believer of true love. One who dreams of kisses under pink skies.
I imagine you to be intriguing and somehow delicate; like a cute little bird that needs to be observed from far.
I imagine you to be private, one who locks up not only his words, but emotions inside pages that are shoved and buried inside the depths of your heart.
I imagine you to be wearied by life, thinking about the future while you stir coffee.

Or maybe how I imagine you just reflects me.

There is a place called empty
a claustrophobic room
Inside it tries to tempt me
my soul it will consume

It preys on broken people
whose hearts facile to break
their bones were made feeble
their brains made opaque

There's a depth beyond this place
it's relatively hard to find
your world you must embrace
for you to free your mind.

We wandered our gazes
to the semidarkness Illuminated
above our sight.

Looking at the allurement
that were now empty caskets
hanging on tombstones of lights,
clinging to there eventual demise.

Lying on the earth,
                             we felt at peace.
Knowing we were one day
to be woven within its fabric,
empty shells of pebbles lost in
a lake of timeless moments.

We would be seashells on its shores
gently corroding with each wave.
till we were grains of eternity
variations of us everywhere.

Looking upon each other,
our hands clasping like a
                 momentary fissure
sealing a grain of moments
                 between ourselves.

"Death is a moment where life
is cherry a falling slowly,

For we each hang on delicate
                                moments,
growing till we do as everything
does. Descending till we evaporate
from reflections and thought.

*"Where all echoes who've already past,

"She's always smiling!"
they said. But they know nothing
behind those closed doors.

There is a place

Where moonbeams can be spun into silk
And shadows are as soft as velvet.

Where even time himself has paused to admire
The star-lanes embroidering the sky.

Where whispering ferns uncoil
To have their edges painted silver.

Where flora flirt, and you respond
With the faintest blush -
A playful petal on your cheek.

Where night-thinkers hum in an intertwining dissonance
Weaving a pleasant acoustic haze

Amidst a rhythm discernible to those
In Lunabrink.

I don't see the point right now
to even writing about
this, no
it's pointless
and all I'm doing is grasping
at air
trying to breathe
clearly and failing
miserably
falling
fast, and yes
I want to crash
I want to burn into ash
crumble into nothing
finally
where I belong at
last..