Here we are again, in my darkest night,
_I’ve never escaped_
I thought the last stretches of a pitch-black pool did not reach me.
Should I be happy on the crescent carving my brokenness?
you said _how beautiful the glimpse of the moonlight is,_
they have been a prosaic, silvery dust in dismal,
but now, _they are a rare light in the sky._
I adore things that aren’t mine
and so you are,
I held an illusion in my desperation, and it wasn’t the universe's fault for sculpting an embodiment of galaxies and stars, such ethereal like you were living in a myth.
You can be there and begone or just begone
(your mercurial imperative) but this time, I wanted to be left on the traces where you were at.
Mar 10, 2022
Mar 10, 2022 at 10:41 AM UTC
Here we are again, in my darkest night,
_I’ve never escaped_
I thought the last stretches of a pitch-black pool did not reach me.
Should I be happy on the crescent carving my brokenness?
you said _how beautiful the glimpse of the moonlight is,_
they have been a prosaic, silvery dust in dismal,
but now, _they are a rare light in the sky._
I adore things that aren’t mine
and so you are,
I held an illusion in my desperation, and it wasn’t the universe's fault for sculpting an embodiment of galaxies and stars, such ethereal like you were living in a myth.
You can be there and begone or just begone
(your mercurial imperative) but this time, I wanted to be left on the traces where you were at.
