The storyteller

And I wipe my nose on it

And a blank page and the stories, I weave

rereading them, they're kinda shit

I know that everybody's words matter

And there is value in every life

But mine feel like brownie batter

As I stand on my bed

To see the angel by my side

From nothing, I create,

A word rich in detail,

To fill my life, desolate,

Seas of stories, I sail.

Through night and day,

My pen is my only solace,

To fulfill hopes, that one day, my words may,

Lifte the spirits on people's face.

So in hopes of happiness, I create,

People and places that are fake,

I open the heavens' gate,

For people to swim in an ephemeral lake.

The lake, but, was a product of tears,

It's basis is the shed of blood of people,

To alter the child's fate tried many seers,

The destruction of my own creation, in my head I mull.

I am the creator of this universe,

But the road of death, I, myself paved,

Of my own beautiful creation, loneliness everlasting is my life's curse,

The year your calls stopped,

The days were hot but it felt like the temperature had dropped,

When your voice I couldn't hear,

My life was wrecked beyond repair.

The memories of glasses filled with sweet juices,

and hallways full of noise,

Became haunted memories decorated with your unused toys,

Gardens once adorned with flowers, became a shrine of dead roses.

The rooms where we chatted away the night,

Holding our breaths trying not to die,

Sitting here alone is impossible; no matter how hard I try,

Can silence quitely kill ? It might.

Where lemon soda could get us drunk,

It seems like the place has shrunk,

I remember those nights on the terrace,

Now, I suffocate, a flower in a dying vase.

The cool air in the room, and the burger crumbs on our fingertips,

With our legs stretched out on the floor, dreaming of a distant Tommorow,

Who knew that the "2 years later" montage of our film will be tagged "sorrow".

only the voices of tears and prayer,now escape the onlookers' lips.

My summers have forever been stained blue,