Mildewed memories garbed in the sepia of stolen ignorance wreak havoc tonight. And while I traipse around, looking for a song that lulls sleep in, the grimy visage of a gaping void gruffly demands my undivided attention.
I concave my shoulders, and heave a sigh.
How, I find myself muttering – how do I fill this crevasse that threatens to pull me into its chasms?
Words refuse to gallop around tonight, and a heavy silence closes in on me. It's funny how every morsel of information I once tinkered with, was served stale on my platter by someone I can't quite remember. I pride myself on being a poet, but then again, I'm just thriving and blooming on borrowed viewpoints, aren't I?
I turn to the balcony, and a string of sighs follows suit. I stare in awe as the sky unfurls into an oil-black night, and stars speck the cerulean with their faint light.
And I find my taut lips creasing into a smile, all thanks to this epiphany: how our affinity for filling the voids, almost always ends up in us overdoing it, and we oftentimes forget to cherish it, thus, inviting more chaos.
Ergo, I steal a shade of ignorance, and shy away from the vicinity of the grimy visage. After all, ignorance is bliss.