She bleeds,
the universe,
and cries,
shooting stars.
Like a princess,
out of her ballgown,
so out of,
place,
she lets freedom,
embrace.
With glitter,
in her hair,
she sparkles,
even at,
night.
I find myself,
finding pieces,
she left,
behind.
She ran,
so far,
she didn’t,
even think,
twice.
The palace just,
was never her,
place.

I wish,
things were,
different.
I wish,
things were,
fine.
I wish,
I could be,
happy,
smile all the,
time.
I wish,
small things,
didn't have such,
an impact,
in my,
life.
I wish,
you weren't,
the same,
as all the others,
not very,
bright.
I wish,
the sun wasn't,
yellow,
or the moon so,
white.
I wish,
you'd just,
love me,
then everything,
would be,
alright.
I wish,
I wasn't so,
dense,
I could maybe,
see the,
light.
I wish,
I had a heart,
instead of,
doing things,
simply out of,
spite.
And of course,
I wish,
things didn't have,
to end,
that we,
had more,
time.
So all these silly,
wishes,
I make,
on this star,
would maybe,
become the,
truth.

You walk,
through this world,
of black and white.
With your head down,
shoulders slumped,
and smile,
wiped clean,
off your face.
The trees,
no longer,
green.
What,
do you,
think,
if just,
maybe,
you touched,
a leaf?
Would it,
brighten up,
and scream,
at the dullness,
with color?
Along with,
the song,
no one else,
can sing,
you skip,
in splashes,
of puddles.
If you spin,
do you think,
when you made it round,
and round,
would the world,
spin too?

I like,
to spread,
myself,
so thin,
that you can,
almost,
see through,
my skin.
I have become,
crumbles,
at the bottom,
of a,
chip bag.
Basically trash,
not even,
worth,
a taste.
Am I really,
such a,
waste,
of space?
You told me,
I’m just a,
to be,
continued,
sitcom,
never to be,
resumed.
Is it,
really,
true?

𝑰‘𝒎 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒆.
This isn’t a game,
or just something,
to say.
𝐼 𝑎𝑚,
𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜,
𝐝𝐢𝐞.
It’s not a joke,
this isn’t,
a play,
this is,
reality.
𝐼‘𝑚 𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔,
right in front,
of your,
eyes.
This isn’t a,
𝒍𝒊𝒆.
I’m going to,
𝐝𝐢𝐞.

She bleeds,
the universe,
and dances,
on stars.
Has the scent,
of flowers,
and personality,
like that of a,
thunderstorm.
Her voice,
sounds like,
a song,
you’ve never,
heard before.
Wearing nothing,
but the lipstick,
she doesn’t,
own,
and a smile,
with curls.

Sometimes,
all I want,
is to kick,
and scream.
Why the hell,
did you,
do this,
to me?
Other times,
I’d much rather,
pretend it,
was all,
just a,
dream.
Couldn’t I,
have just,
been asleep?
Maybe,
it was,
a sick joke,
played on me,
one not,
so funny.