White headed dreams

We use to build bridges
By counting on the wheel
We use to build homes
By counting on the heads
Blame strange simp who like
Moving tents and leaving memories
Ride unicorns from the back of the bus

Oh don’t you recall
You use to scope for endless
Make sense of senseless
Nod in silence while clinging
Fist and having endless screams
Hear a distance cuss and
Play three wise monkeys
Then close the door and
Turned a fake fuss
Is it a diplomacy or the economy’ s doom

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They told me sadness fades when uh explain
But the roots are already grown
on the Salty lands of scars ,
Promising flowers soon.
But the land often gets flooded ,
Washing away all the promises
That were planted ,

But then look at uh,
Breathing an entire forest
Painting paper with poetry
And calling it grief explained

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The wishes that had been laid upon them
By the fingers that dwindled between
Loves me
And
Loves me not
In search of an answer but
That promise had fallen apart
In the end like each petals falling numb
Beautifully by emotionless hand

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A story has more full stops
than para
A poem has more commas
than verses

I've heard it all
And all these everafter they
have promised have ended
in endings

Forever has turned out to be
Just a word fulfilling full stops and commas

This forever is merely a
Memoir of moment
Which gives me hope to look between those
Commas and full stops

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To the falling stars
that faded halfway ,
The eyelashes
and taraxcum
That stayed back ,
and all the wishes
i have stopped hoping for

It's okay,
I have grown up,
You dont have to

I let go things,
You dont have to

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I sip on a glass full of stars
Pouring from the bottle
Filled with purple night sky
A perfect white moon on Its
rim,and a few shimmering Stars
A sparkling, expensive drink

Finishing my glass
I realize i have gotten high
I scribbled unclear words
Through my pen making
Drunk antics

And in the morning everyone
Calls it a poem

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// the feeling of home //
// bubbles and flowers//
// read in the caption //

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There's a soul that wakes up every night I go to bed.
It weaves blanket of words that i have failed to confess
& that blanket of misery refrain from covering my thoughts!!(

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My thought is a city
I build 365 walls around
I stand in a red phone booth
Dialing your number
The moon stretched
I set off at dawn
Jumped back the walls

The phone kept dialing

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Crises are not option but maybe ur option was meant to be “crises" Itself

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