My loneliness, A scarlet river swallowing withered sunsets Across my chest, An abandoned city bathed in somber yellow Of the fading sunlight
Nostalgia is such a lonely word Dipped in thick monochromatic despair and longing, A widow's veil of sorrows Spilling sepia memories from the corners Of an antique picture frame
The nights weep neon a little longer And the hours bleed in silence Like old rose wounds that never heal As if someone squeezed all the colors Of a Pablo Picasso painting Leaving an empty canvass, A black hole. A void. Pale. Gray. Dull. Like the skies Drained of its watercolors And stripped of its rainbows and lilac magic, My loneliness Is a postcard memory of a barefoot autumn Hanging on a clothesline Fading. Withering. Haunting. Like ghosts of forgotten poems And tragic love stories.