3 months ago. October 23, 2022 at 12:30 AM
It isn't the ticking feeling, but the stop of the clock,
To know that the grey is stuck, but never bought,
That sad eyes are something to break the weight,
To grow the void, and chip away at the hate,
Remembering is reliving, and forgetting fallacious,
Thinking those memories will go away, ah audacious,
But atlas, I can't be Peter Pan in such a way,
That Tinker Bell will pray to finally stay,
Only that She decided that I was no longer youth,
That she wanted me, but forget-me-nots,this the truth,
So I flew away and look back at fading stars,
Wondering were you are, in distant memoirs,
About a poor boy whose heart split in two,
Greyed, voided, and forever blue,
At the mere thought or mention of your beautiful name.
Hoping to find some Captain Hook to abstain the pain,
But finding not one, not even two, let me explain,
That there is nothing to fill a salted sea,
To let it be, nor replacement for some faded blue, to spree,
To run, or fly, or question why in such way,
To ram words like fitted junction, and wish for play,
But dismay....at that mere mention...
At mere thought of your beautiful name.