A mystical Rose

Parched

Today, I dreamt of the days I could be alive again-pure smile and a flair for playful simplicity; the days I could paint wonderful stories in the canvas of life and weave my tale into a beautiful solo artwork, mingled with all colors. I'm parched from dying twice, to be reborn again into a dried desert. The scenarios I live in feel like trials that test my sanity for the worse. I pass each day barely, each guillotine of a trial missing my neck by a hair's breadth. I wish for the air by the beach and the melancholy of water in wine glasses testing my swirling hand. I cried alone, then together- to quench my heart of its thirst. Nothing worked as evil desires did, leaving my ambitions alone in the wind for my silly one second happiness. The life I desire is a dream that can't be reached because I wished for someone's happiness, not my own. The shadow is large and I can't shine because unlike sun, no one longs to give its light to the moon. The moon wishes for it, but it is born in the wrong planet. And so I sip  my water in wine glasses quietly with tears and steal my midnight dreams of its unbound glamour.