I feel like there’s lead inside me. And it's strange, Because I feel so fucking hollow.

Like a gate left open, Swaying in the breeze of dusk, purple sky and silhouettes of trees— you were the end of everything that was alive in me.

But the truth is, there is nothing left to save, Because grief left my vibrance in a shallow grave.

So many questions, because To feel good inside a cage Seems as if I've sprouted wings, I can fly, Only to find a wasteland at my feet; To bask in the sunlight of a prison window; To be amnesiac in the apocalypse. Such cruel, brief pleasures in a nightmare.

Whether or not something lies beyond what my tired eyes can know, it's the moments I took for granted, as plentiful and worthless as teardrops in the sea, that are now worth more to me than anything else, yet as impossible to find as that single drop of water, dancing somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, waiting for me.