I'm lackluster in eloquence
and all out of anything that could be defined as
elegant. trust me. this time.
and I'll deconstruct a line of delusion.
a memory.

bleeding meanings from my eyes.
and calling them tears.
with a few left over letters running down my cheeks
begging the stars to scream back.
because these nights. these dreams
they're way too fucking empty.
as the moon is throwing stones at me.
I'm a waste. in a wasteful world.
therefore I'm nothing important.
but I'd rather live.


with closed eyes and fingers hitting keys
as if they'll paint a masterpiece when I'm not looking.
ashamed. that I've forgotten the touch of a pen.
hair in my face- to hide the denial.
and I'm a waste.

but I don't want to die.

-a dagger of metaphor to my chest.
plunge deep. and let these words kill me.
because I'd rather live in these letters.
than lie to myself.

lost in lucidity. I paint my dreams.
and I'd rather live.

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