It's fall now, I am still in my daydream.
My fingers fondling with the perforation of my paper,
Quartz color lights in my short-sighted view beams, like lilies
The films he forgotten thrown on wood,
I could hold on I whisper to myself
I am shrewd enough.
I could die, to the voice inevitably resonant in my ears
I could bear on the crumpled, the crinkled, the crippled.
but why do memories reign
why am I dying to this qualm?
I promise
I'll be me, your fleece-like Ophelia
I'm not forgotten, I whisper to myself.
My pupils dilating to the fading of light,
I crawled to the switch,
but lights couldn't be on.

*l.r