Life Problems
- yding273
- May 18
- 1 min read
Don’t let the sharpness,
Of the crescent moon cut you.
For the blood that twinkles within,
Is the Milky Way.
People ask for the direction to paradise,
And the hope in their eyes shines iridescent.
But the silence that follows,
Drowning in darkness.
Training to the senses.
Stop calling her,
The static on the line wavers.
As the echos bounce off the realms of reality,
Surpassing.
Broken glass,
Reflects a person the best.
The spaces in the cracks,
Exceeding infinity.
The poker table dripping with cards,
A mirror of the player.
The witching hour,
Disappears in the brightness,
Of the city.
Because it is the lights,
That so easily pulls humans.
Into the welcoming arms of illusion.
Things adapt,
You know?
