Cloudy wordings line the margins
of empty skies on painted pages.
I’ve lost innocence, I’ve found guilt.
I’ve lost patience, I’ve found my faults
drafted across old journal pages
mourning loves I never lost, that I never found,
but illustrated like stale words and hopeful diction.
I walk alone.
Years of love, years of tears, years of discovery.
Eyes locked, but pupils wondering
through old tales and dead drafts.
Bindings beaten and torn, creases splitting
the page in two: thoughts lost.
I’ve lost myself, I’ve found love.
I’ve lost feeling, I’ve found guilt.
Portraits destroyed like Middle-
Eastern statues, broken to forget
worse times, but ominous plots paint
margins like landscapes of fire.
I walked alone, I walk alone.