You wept, in solitude of my voice
thinking that you had a choice.
Did I call out under a white cloud
seemingly thoughtless only proud.

Appreciative of the seclusion that
stung upon my flesh like bee stings
that never penetrated upon my flesh.
My mind is a fever of knife stitches.

But I will never let you rhyme upon
my mind, it is  levelled on the bygone
motion of what you versed on my reflection
and I grew stronger in this misdirection.

I was a star that shone beyond your torment
rising above you shooting star of your descent.
You feel while I rose. You were extinguished in
parting but I lived on I was a star that burned bright within.