Noche

I. The child in white resembles the rage that is currently drenched by the acid water from the bottomless skies. His red balloon is slowly letting itself go from the innocent grip of the young boy. As if he has no bravery left in him. No judgement. No attention. No. Nothing.

II. It is easy for us to run barefooted through the wet ground and misty sight. But it will be hard for us to be found, no matter how "found" we are going to feel while we're drifting in the silent song of the rain. It is an endless misery that every single lost soul has to feel in their pitch black life.

III. The rain is shattered on the tip of my tongue. The distance between the sour blue stars and midnight smoke is getting blurred as the night grew colder. Tonight we can write the saddest lines; feel, or nothing at all.

Hermit

Acidic hermit in a sealed room,
Claustrophobic eyes are slowly distorting my tangled minds.
Blind faith hanging on the scratched windows, and morphed sorrows.
I talk to my own again,
This selfless soul is more than hollow.

Former pageant dolls stripping on the burial dance floor,
Blank stare up on the starless skies, whispering nonsense, making tragedy.
Little did they know about the codes, and morse.
Silent applause are consuming their blossoming thoughts,
Dissolving, and devouring every single inch of their fraud.

Tear up my old wounds, teenage slits, and unconscious wars.
Burn the bouquets, light up the feast, set this closeted asylum into pouring water.
Drown my empty words, and drink up the remaining verses.
If I could close my eyes, and count to six maybe the world would turn inside out.

Aoraki

Charge the Amethyst under
The pale blue moon.
Divide my crackling bones into
Pieces of handwritten letter.
And dust our elder's memorabilia
That we traced up in the attics.

We have forty years to talk about
Our lonely mountains, and ashy hearts.
Dribbling sunrise into starlight
In front of the wintering porch from the coldest field in a fictional work.

We have million paths to go;
No more weapons,
No more disclosure to the fragments of our weary fingers.
It's getting harder to choose in this misty light of amber.

We have a little less to frown;
Braided leaves struck your feet before you drown,
Blood red vine into our lungs,
It's getting easier to breathe this time around.

Heights

Dribbling thoughts like
Pinot Noir in a crystal glass.
Summer afternoon,
Wintering minds.

Pale reflections started to
Appear and disappear
Beneath these tired eyelids
In constant motion.

Capgras delusion
Replacing what was meant to be there
With few additional hours
Imagery, and deeper fiction.

Dribbling thoughts like
Vintage white in a steel glass.
Winter morning,
Summertime minds.

(Steal the rectum off my spine)

Hum

Recalculating distance:
Memories intertwined
in a sacred box beneath
your Winter breath.

Just when I thought
you've got carried away
Stafford on the radio:
I've been resting too long.

(You Belong To Me - Jo Stafford)