It seemed like a good time to write poetry.
When I'm surrounded by a crowd but I'm all alone.
When I face the blinding light but I can't see anything.
When tears are waterfalls of sadness.
When these heartbreaks become series of habits
until they turn us to something we never should be.
We wait for a lot of things to happen
but all we ever see is our hopes,
crashing down the empty pavements.
Everything is black, white, blue.
Maybe because I'm the wrong shade in the spectrum that never belonged.
The labels have spoken for us
wandering and lost
Clueless, hurt, call it what you want.
It's hard to make the sadness flee,
when it's the flesh caged by your ribs.