untitled

the residues of the forgotten

are left hanged on twilight walls

pain deserted unwritten

words taking solitary strolls.

behind the trees' silhouette,

sincerity and lies gradually waning,

hues of the truth and counterfeit,

what a sad, grotesque painting.

alas, night will come, and i shall

be comforted on her bosom

the faking stars will fall,

upon flowers in half blossom.

sweet hollowness creeping,

and shall contaminate me soon.

twilight glows dying,

leaving a disguised boon.

the night is suicidal

her silence assailing

lights flicking: ephemeral

soon forever fading, fading.

- nothing but the inspiration of nothingness that inspired me to write this.