My words are like precise spiky stones ready to be cast against vulnerable and unprotected faces, they are suspended clouds of implications that light in one's eyes infinite expectations, they are precious unforgotten drops loved for long and sipped up, they're burning arrows that the wind and fate know where to send.
Don't you know that you don't remember some dreams from wide awake, when you suddenly open the eyes they already have cleared, apparently burnt, and instead they remain suspended in an angle along with the night breath of who has gotten up.
Happiness, sudden vertigo, optical illusion, chance to take, park it without emergency lights or triangle, all sleep already and the traffic light has gone off. Yesterday it was you, today I'm the next, how long will it last, I ask others but I think some invisible thread has gone, not but the scenery remains.
There's some rain and I'm waiting for a fire, a spark that may light me up amongst then ash, a dawn in this utter darkness, returning to write upon your skin.
There is too much rain and I'm losing height, flying through air pockets through the clouds, if I cry water it isn't acknowledged and amongst others you are suggested to smile.