You’re like a sad song in the middle of the happiest playlist, I could have made, the tunes they blend into a symphony Of sweet Nostalgia, until your song plays jarringly. A song that has rendered me to the will Of a poet’s apex, for the words they bleed when one’s soul wilts.
What's the point of waiting by the phone? If your messages are dry and you are alone. The person that you want so much to message back, Is ignoring you and you're about to crack.
All the bottled emotions in your head. Are a step away from exploding, then you're dead. There is just so much that you wanna say... But so many obstacles all in your way.
A collection of words dancing upon the blank canvas of my screen. Mocking me, they sit unaudited, unfiltered, nonsensical strings of words that fit so beautifully, so tempestuous, they sit together.
My blue skies are rainy days, the horizon opens as the day bleeds towards the faint hues of sunset. The crows they gasp for air, their distorted reflections dance across the streets - the newfound liquid mirror casts the colours of the sky like how the clouds thread themselves upon the crimson of the sun.