On nights like these
Where the stars are hidden behind grey
And the sky just cries.
On nights like these
When my eyes are cloudy
And my tearducts have run dry.
It is on nights like these
That I make art with a blade
On a once smooth canvas.
It is on nights like these
That staying alive is a job
A job I find hard to do.
It is on beautiful nights like these where no one hears my muffled tears for they blend in with the pouring sky.
As I
Just try
To stay alive.
YOU ARE READING
Missing words
PoetryA mix of poetry, short stories and things that actually happened that I hope will make some people experience things that they normally would not. I want to make people see the world how I see it. Where colour is sound and a painting becomes life.
