all the noise which encompasses
the voices brought to static swoons
drenched architecture purchases
wrought with metal and iron to whisk
us to the pearly sheer moon

all plagued within busying decay
wilting upon thresholds of spinning stares
clinging onto flowers trafficked upon despair
how my palms are crossed and inked with delay

the soil gathering in roots
and stinging of clattering water drops
the garden shutter despite of love
as the voices carry in the breeze

yet I start to realize it is all
a facade to carry me away
and I cry out to the distant stars
like pebbles of emerald heroines,

"for all I have done, what in return?"

shall the heavens weep I shall sleep soundly
yet I feel the chatter in the marrow of my bones
maybe this twinkling sky isn't for me,
as it chuckles lightly oblivious to its bite

so plummet through this pearly moon
in search for that greater beyond
do not worry, my love
maybe I'll return in orbit soon

sitting in place very, very still,
underneath the glimmer of the sky,
the liberals have arrived so don’t try to think,
I keep the strum of ruined heartstrings and pluck to a gateway bliss,
we all live and swim through sickness of strife as misfits,
pursue the gawking geese careening in the big blue sky,
look there, there we all point to the everlasting feast
the sheer of pretty pink and dripping orange marmalade skips a beat
I squeeze my knuckles so they go white, spending hours in the bright light,
oh how my lungs yearn for the touch of cold, cold sky breath,
caress the dazzling light which pierces through a curtain of death,
yet everyday spinal chords whistle out of tune
and painted carriers go out and dig out those buried runes,
so before falling, I look into irises and their missed faces
Yet, I only end up scratching the slippery opaque surfaces,
and those heartstrings render and contort, visions passing over the horizon
and those smudges of graphite I use to write are frightened,
leaving traces in the music I must have mistaken
as my own