Sitting on the edge not worthy to sit on,
while learning to be a rebel through smokes
and the wind instantly fades ──
the smell of a dying hope.
There I was...
mourning with the dreams
that has been kept as dreams for years.


There were no stars in the evening sky,
and the crescent moon has just
kissed the horizon as I came.
The only thing I've just remembered
from that night, was the sound of
the waves below my feet hurting the
shoreline that was so used to the pains.


With streaks and bruises
marking the abused roads.
Minimal lights just enough to create
a silhouette concealing my soul.
The edge of the next city, between miles
of unforeseeable waters from me,
a symbol of groups,
divided by riches and misery. .


I turned back and walked home,
in a home that was never mine.
I was close to my neighborhood
when I decided to return
and sit back on the edge not worthy to sit on.
A guarantee that at least I'll have
the thoughts that was mine all along.