glass
glass isn’t sincere;
sure, it’s clear,
it’s as breathtaking as kashmir,
but it jeers,
it’s damage is cold and precise like a spear, and it’s
bound to hit you, no matter where you steer.
it has already got to me,
slicing the faint skin o’ my soul,
the shards know their position,
to rob, to abduct –
they take everything except my ambitions.
i’m left with that,
for what?
well, glass is a reflection after all…
so is my ambitions all i have to offer?
the glass did leave me unclear,
and that’s why i tell you reader,
glass isn’t sincere like it appears.
night is underwater
head in the clouds,
the sound of waves
crashing, ringing
in my ears
oh, so loud!
the night is underwater.
the moon has drowned.
the stars are now captives of the ocean.
the night still looks young, though.
even if it’s underwater,
fading away,
deeper and deeper
to the bottom,
into a forgotten place.
troubled eye
i have a hard time sleeping –
i always have,
perhaps i have
what they call a troubled eye.
it wants to sleep,
it wants to shut,
it wants to disconnect –
but my little spinning mind,
pockets the exhaustion
and forces me to keep
my troubled eyes awake.
so all i say the next morning,
to anyone who cares enough to ask,
is, “i just couldn’t sleep.”
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