If I cry enough,
Maybe it will make me a good man?
Someone who cares
And doesn't stare deep in a pit,
Seeking for answers.
And when its bottom begins,
I will pity your glance
Like a daylight gone too low,
Accidentally
Too low to comprehend what's real.
With this pain,
No man like me shall seek compassion,
The scariest of woe;
But in my last slumber,
I will write a prose about you.

This world
And its million thousand layers
It wants to be heard
For human, and hate, and a favor.

I want to believe,

That the skies breathe
Clouds roll into cotton and swim
And the great Sun leaves
Dark falls into love and a feel.

When it lasts,

Pass us a day to reminisce
And its million different flavors
It is alone, distant for eyes
For what it's loved, and hated, and favored.

Last Christmas
I saw the world burn
Last stars flick for us
Where no one shall return.

So I could feel it
The world ending
The last bomb peeling
Your precious skin.

And akin to skies,
Akin to stray soul
Sweet lies lay
Where the word shall fall.

Where the word shall fall,
There lies the last of queue
People of conveyor, lay low
For all of us, for all of you.