Ethereal

Marble Tiles

Why do you wish when the shooting star falls?
Why don't you mourn; for it has fallen now.
As someone broke it.
Reminds me of a boy I used to know.

I cry in his arms when my self loathing fires roar and we pretend to know what to do before these fires catch up to his forest.
And we burn together.

What have I done to end up at barren lands of name calling, burning bridges and those letters received wrong?
I know I'm not made for this.

When they killed the person inside of me,
I was reincarnated as an invincible poet.
But why was the sound heard after the tree had its fall?
So if I decide to stop working like an old clock,
will anyone build a time machine for old time's sake?

A rare sight of a poet boy with thin arms, and I can run away from all of this.
But I'm running on quicksand.

Locked in my own superstitions,
I make those rulings in my own justice system, which are not so liberal anymore.
Names are quoted there, while some were forgotten, just like happiness.
Forgotten.
But it shall come back, probably not in the same way.
But once it comes back,
I shall forever chant its name;
before it once again goes away.

I let that melancholy drop from eyes.
And I let each drop carry its worth in my words.

You can never break me as a writer,
but for now, I am ruined as a person.
So let me grow like a white rose. Hopeless.
...until I find hope again.