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 these suffocating thoughts
taste only the colors you breathe.
You are a perfect blend of gorgeous
elevating colours 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,
and you are my lost feeling.
Yet still.
The rain makes me miss you.
