The sky is more red and less black tonight.
I feel like the world is ending
and you are there, painting it with the last colour left in your pocket.
If it were true, I would never step inside.
The day you ran away, no one spoke a word.
After all, you were only a young boy who dreamt of swallowing fire
until they told you to never dream again. You burned.
I often feel like you are in my room.
Everyone says it is the wind and I say the wind is you.
They tell me they are sorry; but they are only afraid.