I had,
a dream,
last night.
I finally got,
to see,
You.
After all this time,
You asked,
“It’s me,
don’t you,
remember?”.
And no,
I did not,
remember,
You.

I kinda sorta,
ran,
when I wasn’t,
supposed to.
It was raining,
and the sky,
was blue.
But I ran,
until I couldn’t,
and then I skipped,
into the depths,
of redemption.
I twirled,
and danced,
with not a thing,
to hold onto.
After that,
I walked,
and then,
I simply,
fell.

I forgot,
if last night,
was actually tomorrow.
And whether or not,
if I’m dreaming,
or living,
a nightmare,
instead.
This is something,
I’d much rather,
**** it up,
and be a big girl.
But I’m crying,
in the corner,
like a baby,
instead.
I’m supposed,
to choke it down,
without tasting,
the poison.
But I’m,
throwing up,
while I gag,
and wishing,
it was someone else,
instead.
That isn’t fair,
but I guess,
I’ve become,
someone not me.
The cracked reflection,
of the broken mirror,
I stepped on,
while twirling,
instead.

It was,
so much,
easier,
to tell you,
that you simply,
had the wrong number.
Than it would have,
been to say,
that it was,
still me.

I misplaced myself,
just like,
my favorite,
pen.
The mirror,
it’s broken,
a lack,
of reflection.
I’m not,
too sure,
what happened,
but I lost,
phone signal,
and my steps,
I didn’t print,
a mapquest.
My glasses broke,
I thought,
I made it,
home,
I’ll stay in bed,
I promise.
That’s just,
a tree,
instead,
blurred from,
reality.
This isn’t fair,
I didn’t ask,
for this,
she did,
I’m not,
her,
she’s already,
dead.
The mirror,
it’s broken,
I’m here,
instead.
A game,
I forgot,
the rules,
to play.
I don’t think,
this is something,
you could,
possibly,
understand.
From a person,
who isn’t,
a person,
just a bunch,
of swirls,
and squiggles,
that forgot,
how to,
get home.

No, he's not pessimistic
It's just that he's accepted the reality
He has examined every single angle
But got the same result each time
The radius is not yet ready to form a cone
So, he has to cope with the circle only
He understands things very well
Hence, there's no point in being optimistic...

The tree would bloom only in the spring
So, it continues to wait for that season
Similarly, he's also waiting for the storm to pass by
And the clouds to rain down 
So that he can see the clear blue sky
Under which he'd again try to convince
The radius to give up its obstinacy
And to form the cylinder, if not the cone...