eyes,
static buzz.

lines,
orange,
burst through the dark

these timezones are really messing
with your head,
i think mine's too used to the chaos
to even care.

stumbling
into yet another hotel room,
into the warmth of your tired chest
aching for some proper sleep.

another morning comes,
another script to recite,
another backseat to ignite,
another backstage to excite

me
as i run fingers through greasy hair
and swing mic wires and scream-
robust flashing lights,
carnal teenage dreams
-till it's all over,
and we're back to conveyor belts
and white walls
and sparkling designer shops,

to gas stations with neon lights
melting into wet asphalt,
without your
just-as-cold
hands helping me hold
the instant noodles that i blow.
then driving back home
to a bed twice my size

i always criticised
these people who cried,
too high off of pride,
but i'll

always miss the salty sea
and your faded ripped jeans, but i
hope the air there, blowing
through your grey-blond hair,

will forever taste of me.

© lilac_of_hope
Picture by me