Time.

Time, liquid and cynic, like a poison; is thieving your eyes from mine, with shrieks ripped apart and hurled like a sheet of so many words written with blood, only to be contaminated with the presence of one fault line. With tears buried inside to barren lands of my soul, I sense your eyes flowing away.

A child, sniveling, screams that he loves you, as if his small bird that just released her last breath. You don't hear him, and keep on breaking apart our city of dreams we built with our hands, together, with rocks mischievously stolen from fortresses. The bruises on his chest, closer to the left, you use as a cherry on your pie.

I smuggle my eyes from your gaze, from which a hungry, unkempt soul exudes; a soul I coddled as much as my mortal flesh could. In this cold October evening, my core ruptures and falls upon the earth we once gazed in bliss; as you stare through me.

The sun hastily falls into the arms of nobody, dragging my dreams along. She becomes a silhouette in the west, soon to be ethereal like you, me and this city.

You have your own dreams that you keep in a box I had never seen before, dreams you want to follow, their taste sweeter than hearing me inhale. Warmer than my hands.

You run to east's hidden treasures, you run to grasp your dreams.
You run to east, and I lose you - I'm no longer a point of interest, I'm the point that drew the line of your interests.

In an unkown flat, with the melody of a known crisis, I lose myself.

The doom of any two souls that have claimed that they were one once.

Separation.




_{Amid the dead bottles, once containing the wine we drank in the light of angels and lust of demons; lies a heart that has forgotten to beat.}