Opus

Of late

Empty evenings
Filled with the music of a different land
The voices of people I've never met
Songs of a love I've never felt.

We dream
In continuum
Of glitters and gold.
Of the stories never told
The witches of old
Gone

(Like my sanity)

I try in vain
To make something real
To survive.
It sounds as empty as I am.
Torn apart
By the lack of dreams.

(The emptiness crawls on my skin
Loud enough to drown my screams)

I wish I had something to believe in.
Something to fear
Something that made sense.
Alas.
The Muses
Have long been dead.
I've given up on fairy tales.

I'm just waiting for another clichéd ending.
Of Silent bullets and Tinker Bells.

(Like the last dregs of coffee
In wasted paper cups)