typing out my soul | poetry book

Piece of Blue Sky

Sleep is a distant call,

A flickering light,

One I cannot see,

One I cannot hear

Happiness is sand,

Slipping through my fingers

As it slowly disappears,

Blood takes its place

Food is rarely seen,

Rarely needed.

As I grow weaker,

I feel more at peace.

Soon I will be gone,

A piece of blue sky.

No one will notice though,

And nobody will mourn