You listen to me with earplugs,
hopeful voices bounce off unwavering indifference.
You hold my hand like itís made of sandpaper,
what happened to Ďhands as soft as a petalí?
Your heart beats for me like a coma patientís,
slowly and without so much as skipping a beat.
Your eyes shine like a worn cobblestone path,
as bright as crushed gravel and hard stones.
Your poetry is that of a childís...
accusatory and ignorantly far-reaching.
You sing with a cracked voice and fickle notes,
always writing lyrics with your Ďastuteí knowledge.
Are the stars everything you wanted?
Do you treasure the things youíve always flaunted?
Is there truth in your glare, or do you wear it to just to spite?
Will your vision just be dark, or will there someday be a light?
Iíll always sit beside you, to kiss your eyelids to sleep.