The stars are fake,
they are shining upon the sky
And burning everything that touches their beam.

They desire a sand
and you are the hourglass.

They are a Periwinkle
that didn't linger
like the dancing willows,
I left them without embers
I left them with iridescent eyes.
I understand now
why they lost their minds
like a lustrous prism
in a mythical dream;
love is a place
where the poets went to die
and where I always came back.

He always left me hollowed,
A blank space
A black hole
I am buried deep below.

He always left me hollowed,
when the sky is blue
and our hands are reaching
when the sun is yearning
when our hearts are beating.

they buried a poet
sprinkled his words over coffin
tossed a book into dirt alongside
and waited few decades
to have a leaf sprout
for winds to carry his lines
far
to one with open ears
another circle in a world of squares
have phrases strain down the cheeks
into ink smeared on paper


buried in a trashcan
in a diary
in a library
in dirt
everywhere really...

So many catastrophes isn't it?
If all you had was hell, imagine if I were the world where you are standing right now, right this year, too painful, too depressing; Be careful what you wish for.

I always write about love
and think I'm into it
And think of its twist and turn,
It wasn't that easy to love and
To be loved.
Each day we're swooning by
The comfort of the Sun,
I could not remember the last time
The light had left me;
No one would ever take a glance
on their dark times.

I know, I am complete--  living on a guarantee that
The stars will hold on into the night,
Each night where you will hear the
Swan's lullaby
And in morning, you will embrace
The thoughts of last night's catastrophe.