Bittersweet
The last dreg of Jim Beam. Moonlight in a trance afloat the branches. Night breathing its last. Daybreak dances bittersweet.
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M a d n e s s
For them madness be like Black cat. Eye twitch. Hand itch. For us madness be like No challenge. No dream. Mainstream.
Where people I greet wear no masks, where promises are not contracts but a matter of trust, where being strong is nothing to be proud of but being vulnerable is, where love meets me with a dream that I could share and not a spiked drink, where nature is not a luxury but a way of life, why does it have to be a daydream.
...she was the field of wildflowers where we run behind the dragonflies in the sun and wait eagerly to count constellations under the stars. Stars shone in her eyes yet shifted everyday and so did her perception. She was never a hand to be held but the many seeds of a dandelion to be wished upon, to only be scattered and swept away by the wind thereafter.
