The urge to believe in your book of lies
is powerfully controlling my torn heart...
His eyes sparkle midst an alleyway
laced with demonic possessions...
I remember the taste of
medicine; the clinking...
A half a cup of tea on the table
An old pair of shoes near the door...
O dreadful mirror that hides my shame
locked in a misty reflection illuminated...
Concentrated smiles,
Watered down from the rain...
If I was on my knees pleading with you,
begging for you not to leave...
In the streets of words,
your old ones escape...
Waiting for justice
is just one of the things that stop you dreaming...
I must stop believing
that any day now...
Do not open this door
to the heart of a stolen life...
Once in a while,
when the rain kisses my anxiety...