Two stars.
Burning, fading away.
Let me,
Paint the constellation,
Red.
As a glaring warning.
Because I will,
Pour on you
Black and Blue.
Because you will,
Be tired to
Your bones.
Because
The stardust or,
The moonlight
No longer
Spills from our
Entwined Souls.
Because when we meet,
we will collide.
And we will create,
another black hole.
We will collapse into each other.
YOU ARE READING
Mirage.
PoetryDisclaimer : I do not own the pictures, used with my poems. They are the property of their creators.
