Glorification of the darkness, is it but a spell?
I fumble with unwavering certainty,
know that charcoal appeals more than pastel,
And the night sky shimmers and twirls with stars,
Her rockets were pink and aliens blue,
My Painting, something along the blackened hues.
A caffeinated cup reads into the night,
Persuasion in hazel eyes, and a smirk in his smile.
Streaming moonlight across her face, in bed
Alas, she must fall with her pillow stained red.
I cannot travel but towards the light
The moths tell me on a suicidal quest, I warn
Not all that glows is the moon, beware
She says I deceive deception, as the butterfly I ensnare.
The universe convinces me by the day,
Bullets are real, and flowers are my farce.
Cowering and weeping under rubble in Levant,
Barely realised dreams, people falling to the floor when no, not anymore they can't.
Florida, Paris, Manchester, I can only pray,
What do you want, what compels you to kill?
Charcoal on the pyre, whispers the ugly truth,
it says the rose on my desk coaxed me to bleed.
I do not want to believe,
I trust the fireflies will lead us to dawn,
Where sunlight streams burning their swords outdrawn.
Her sunsets were coral and hills amethyst,
A younger me holds it up across my teary mist.
She believed that everything was magic,
Now I hold up a candle, for all that left is tragic.
You did it, You're almost there, world.
You're almost, entirely chaos.