He walked with an ambiance as if no one could break his collected composure;
Not even me.
His face played the role of a soldier, no one could infiltrate his enigma;
Not even me.
So I breathed in oxygen dampened by the strife hidden in his eyes
I swayed nonchalantly by his facade
Tempted to scream, beckoned to fall at his godforsaken knees
To beg for his return if he so pleased.

But each quickened pulse, each boil of blood drove my heart
Every mile away, my feet following it astray.
The stars lapsed into their old places as if they knew no other way.
The poignant silence
Mustered one word
Before the heavens faded
One singular trivial phrase:
"Hey."

I feel like I was once a naked canvas
- a credulous artist was to be my creator,
his deepest desire was to fill the empty frame
with beautiful work of art and make it
the masterpiece of his life - well, see there was this one
significant problem - the canvas was never meant
to be beautiful

and so the artist smothered it with paint,
and ripped it with a rusty pocket knife,
and shouted at it in pure shame
that it could never be a masterpiece

with stains of dreadful paint,
and open wounds,
it stood on the painting easel
– all alone

*worthless