Did your eyes ever become for me like stars?
Or your name,
my beacon when I'm lost in a desert,
Starved and piling sand into a gourmet meal,
As if the wealthiest have met with me,
And I, an honored guest at their party,
I bow to the host,
Before his flakey head crumbles to the ground,
And the other guests shriek at his absence.
The stars could've guided my way,
Out of this birthing grounds of delusion,
But here I sit,
throwing a fit in the sand,
as grains shoot against the sky in my frustration.
As they plummet back to Earth,
Another guest comes crashing to the ground.
Who needed her company anyway?
I begin to kick the guests,
Letting their knees buckle as they meet my floor,
until I'm once again all alone.