Temporary distractions make our existence
A clear breeze as sun burns the skin
A toasty coffee on the lap of a lover
Complaints about looks, money
Just tiny distractions

The world incinerates while we put out tiny fires
The flame spreads as we carry the buckets
We try to delay the boundless dimness
While desire remains fastened to the cages of a few

What do you do when you can't stop staring at the gloom
Watching the city blaze along with the torso
Inhaling gray flakes
Dreaming of the downfall

It used to be trivial,
To pour unknown feelings to paper.
Imagine,
And feel the warmth of a reflection.

But when thrown into fire,
Lips don't part.
And the necessary words,
Cannot be etched.
Not to paper, not to air.

I need to be alone.
Not like I am now,
sitting on the balcony,
watching the islands
escape my view.

I want to pack my bags
and go
to a peculiar land.
I want to get lost
in many strange alleys,
that curve around the city,
like the cobra
around my neck.

Not like I always am,
sitting alone in a house
oceans away from the place
I want to be,
listening to whimpers
of some ghost past,
slithering from the cracks
of a roof I called home
many many years ago.

I want to tumble into
great quests
that illuminate existence
like tiny, colorful
street lights
that open all at once,
transforming the hallow streets
to a carnival.

I need to be strong again.
No longer a slave
to bitter memories
with a happy facade,
a ghost
in a child's form,
that resides in my ribcage,
haunts my mind.

I want to dance around the streets,
holding another strangers hand
at each corner
as the endless tune soars
through air and
paints the moon,
exchanging tiny bits of self
until I become a mosaic
of many breaths.

You're not the sun,
nor the moon

You're not the warm and fuzzy feeling
that keeps me awake at night

You're the needles
that scratch my skin

You're the feeling of
standing under rain for hours

You're happiness
in all the wrong places

And that's okay
because I am not the deliverer
of pretty words