His ghost sings softly, a broken lullaby,
burned into my eyelids, shaking whispers,
aching silence, like a thief of dawn
stealing breath from sleeping cities.
He moves restless through veins
poisoned by words unspoken,
shattered truths scattered like ashes,
dancing wild through toxic winds,
political nightmares devouring dreams.
His touch rough, aged like driftwood,
voice cracking open ancient doors,
bridges torched by reckless kisses,
healer and wounded, prophet undone,
hallucinating at the edge of night,
tongues tangled in unknown prayers.
She wanders like a gypsy star,
feeding off his sorrow, sharing ache
in silken melancholy, children smiling
innocently at illusions blossoming
in skies suspended, palaces of air,
golden cornfields swaying blindly.
The sudden crush of metal, breath lost,
belt marks branded, lungs crushed,
pain defined him clearly, brutally
etched inside city bones, illusions
layered thick, devotion bleeding quietly,
belief hidden in oyster shells,
galaxies spiraling slowly, secretly
inside his fractured core.
Happy Thursday still dreaming of an app fingers crossed đ¤ rough night think I'm coming down with the flu...