It has been days, or probably months;
I can’t remember very well.
I have drank the silence like liquor,
Which has mapped my bones and skin.
There are seasons lurking in the dark circles of my eyes,
And peeping through the curves of my flat smiles.
I have dusted their fingertips from my heart;
And broken it to a million pieces to form a constellation of my own,
Which lights my way home.
The sky pours purple rain upon me,
And I let not a drop get wasted as they collapse on my cheeks.
That is how I have survived so far.