Like a grey boat with an accusatory tone

never bothering a wharf

I stand still. Alone.

No longer I write the wilderness

with defeated yet indomitable wraith

as I feel unsafe inside,

the very place, I knew once.

Perhaps the memory grinds against

as I wonder the shallow dark

nowhere, in my mind.

Neither an infant cooing nor an urchin dying

just a meteorite no longer flying.

In anxieties and disappointments

I stand here, stargazing.

Shameless as I wear a crown of thorns

waiting to get trapped into the clouds.

Unadorned as I speak my sorrow

diluted with warm and dark

consistently conjecturing a fact

a fact of never being alone

yet alone.

Despite a false hope, it is a weight distilling darkness

through bleeding lines between apathy and hope

whilst the moon hangs without an answer

in echo dark

where only silence answers back.