Float away from thoughts of what could’ve been done better.
Each scar, each scrape – each idiosyncrasy.
Dance around the room foolishly, own each minute of it.
Live for yourself,
Everything else? Just dust to wisp off your fingertips.
Morbid whispers, past to present,
Decadent in mourning.
Efforts much too long misspent,
Haunted, rich with yearning.
Ask, but never postulate,
Arrive honest and plain.
More emptiness to consecrate,
A journey made in vain.
With distance alone the burden fades,
The heart finds itself aflutter.
The end at last, of all charades,
Not a word left to utter.
Though anguish may appear to rise within those vacant skies,
Can’t trust a single tear, if it falls from a demon’s eyes.