Constellations settled high above us,
the endless night,
deep as the ocean.
The moon lies watching us
shedding light over the dense forest,
yawning, waiting for her brother to take over.

Misty vapors sit over us,
Our eyes shut, listening.
My casual garden of Eden
your fragrant strawberry gum,
clouded by the poison of your rude cigarette,
and the soft rose perfume you always wear.

Whispers of a breeze float by,
blowing hair over your gaunt cheeks.
When your patience is finally exhausted,
you sit up, your voice ripping the silence.
I hear your carefree tone,
but see a traveler in your eyes,
with the weight of the world,
resting on your shoulders.
The rotting facade strapped on each day,
cannot conceal just how much
you want to vanish,
endlessly searching for an escape,
longing to be a ghost.

But you pick up another cigarette
and breathe.