The loneliness of flight gets you,when you look outside the planeyou booked to go to the placesand when you check the clouds. You pretend you are among them,you are the person everyone knows –the Icarus with the Godly plumagethat doesn’t...
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The senescent strokes of My pencil on a wan paper Of my sketchbook Cedes to the traces of Moments I spent with My eyes flashing
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I wake up in the morning, and the day is grey. I look in the mirror, disgust looks back at me. I feel my chest, and it's still there; the branding that reads 'failure