The coldest night air
Seems no different than the
Space around the stars.

I cough words
onto a page,
and hold it up to the world.
They call it art, they call it poetry.

I stare at the mirror
not because I'm vain
and not because I'm pretty
I stare at the mirror
because the person looking back
is not me
It's a black, shadowy wisp
that runs away
when I try to touch it

I couldn't think of
Anything nice to say
Hence; the silent
I've portrayed
The awkwardness
Of the night
Keeps bugging
My tired heart

I couldn't think of
Anything nice to say
Even my smile looks so pale
I was nothing but stale

I’m trying to be calm
I'm trying to stay content
I couldn't keep a straight face
the past hit me hard
it kept me awake
forever alert

I wondered if he noticed
The rage on my face
The grudge in my eyes
The distrust of his words
I couldn't think of another act
To cover up my disguise face

I've been used
To living alone
And his coming just
Add another groan,
I couldn't think of
Anything nice to say
Hence; the silent
I’ve portrayed

Shining on the peak
The sun on top of the tree
for how long will it be
keeping the day floating
on the bright side of the quay
will delight the sight of the bee
before it takes its daily dip?
Back into the night will it flee
there it may have left the key!