he sings each note 
so sharp and clear 
somewhere, 
in a field of lavender 
a fire crackles  
an hourglass shatters

crystallaiz

The Little Prince

He dips his paint roller 
into dark blue sadness
and splashes it across
the violet sunset 
filling out the stars
that fall fall fall 
onto great black umbrellas
the ones used on rainy days
except now the sky 
is showering stars
so he tilts the cover up;
it's a world of white 
unfilled diaries and
unspoken thoughts
slowly coloured by 
translucent dream sequences
which disintegrate into 
petals of deep burgundy 
that used to be 
pieces of him