Sunday, December 3, 2017


You are such a worth of waste
of my time.

I am anxiety,
I am your lost mind.

You give a lonely thief air,
a reason to be
while suffocating thoughts
tasting only the colors you breathe.

You are a perfect blend of gorgeous
elevating colors of words
even Van Gogh couldn't explain.

I am your cliche,
I am your ghost
seeping under once walled-up-doors
begging you to play.

My heart is strong enough now
that elephants could dance on it.

(Both of your favorite things).

I am your calamity,
you are my lost feeling.

And still.

The rain makes me miss you.