I can't shake it off,
The smudge and smog
That entire field of orange, yellow, and red dots
Around my my pulse strapped tight knots

A mirage of wondrous fabrics
Fabricated dense goose bumps
Or this instant of brief flicks
of putting myself in a stagnant lump

Yet I grow unsettling and raving hands
To move and continue
and wield that feeling
into times' ceaseless sands

When balmy ending waves to past
All that's left is to shower tears
To the azure day and star-bright dusk
and peer back,
into old harmonious muted years

One night, one lady asked,
How do you see the world so vast?,
I answered with an abated voice,
"I simply look at it with nodding head's rejoice

She redundantly asked again;
"How do you see the world in-sane?,
I answered with shunned eyes,
"I never do, I never have, it's a fluke, a LIE"

As she sat and leaned,
First at air's wisp and second,
on my shoulder's plead,
-and said-"This is where all ethereal lies of gist"

"Where art thou", I asked,
She giggles in reminisce; grabs a flask, then drinks in stillness
"This empty bottle is filled with greatness"-she says-
"To what extent?" as I gazed

"Haha..... to none" she laments over,
"None?, surely not, This flask is liquid's lover
It helps give form
To whatever desolated-looking storm"

Both depend on each other's existence,
She then swiftly seizes my hand
"Answer then my question with consistence"
"Well I guess the world is undersized but grand?" -I pondered-

"Close enough", as she yawns
As I bring her to bed,
I then see the brimming dawn
-I leaned back and thought-"Huh, the world is yet to be well-said"

To be broken of fleeting bliss,
If you heart's demand is unclear,
When your eyes are filled with mist,
What hands will hurt and what hands will bear,

As everyone's heart will be shifted
Our tears that wipe our view unto reality
It is the droplets of water that is true and vivid
And it is that, that declines the fallacy

'Til you lean unto another's arm
Let your window be hazy and confound
Embrace the wind's mild harm
Shedding those tears is what makes us unbound

Because when we stumble into a puddle of dreams
We see below whatever dread and lie
Of the continuous glum of streams
'Til then I will let you cry