29 March 2024

Bad Tripping

The frozen fog on the window glass
Melts to the warmth of your sigh.

The molten droplets merge into
Each other, creating a trail like a
Band of birds making it out of cages.

It's like Michelangelo's marble shedding 
The extra chunks to absolve herself 
As an angel. 

Like a suicide note of a man who
Killed himself became a paper boat 
After remembering his childhood.

It seems like I am a passenger in 
The spaceship of your reveries.

Where my tragedies bad-trip over 
Your fantasy to grow upon
My unfulfilled longing.