Drysight

Desolate Wastelands,
in your eyes.
Make me cry.
Tears of sand
in the hourglass.
To be filled up,
and dumped again.
Over and over
ever churning,
ever burning.
The rosy cheeks
they slide across.
Smooth and elegant.
Leaving the fragrant smell,
of simulated sorrow.
In the trodden trails,
of sudden salty sobs.
A cacophony of calamity
in the mind,
you thought you left behind.
Let the ebony silk,
sliding over sight.
Make them empty
of wavering pride,
as it glides.
Onto,
into,
through you.
Until the devils
smiling spaces,
tearing traces,
in their faces.
Scream silent symphonies,
of suffocated silky memories.
Becoming the histories,
that burn in the rose`s bush.
Harboring hasty heaps of frozen fire,
that we desire.
To melt away,
the light of day,
into decadent decay,
falling away,
so very far away.
Burying my lies,
within your eyes.
And as they cry.
I shall slowly die...