People often compared stars with,
They collide and destroy, Merciless
They burn out for life. Selfless
But, stars always were about balance.
I started creating my universe,
When I think of stars, all my mind can show,
Is an embedded verse.
A verse that always had been a curse,
To the fool, to the strong.
Not to the weak, no.
The one that isn’t delusional of vulnerability,
|When you look up to the stars,
You see hope. Light.
Yellow color in the night,
Wasn’t of the stars.
It was you, your soul. Your scars.
Your hope. Pain of your sane.
You’re yellow paint…
But it’s fact that the stars are dead.
Not even paint can take the pain away. Not even the end.
The thought that was forced on me,
But oh my mind, don’t you think
Love is something blue, not yellow.
I never understood your ways,oh friend.
This isn’t love.
It’s the size,
Size of the delusion you carry,
To make your own feet weary.
This ain’t love,
Stars are just delusional
Masks of hope.
We put on our face, bright eyes, with glitters and grace.
Symbol of balance.
It’s not shiny sparkling twinkles that crawls up my skin,
And give me nightmares, as sweet as a dream.
As real as reality.
It’s the thing I see the most,
That reminds me what love isn’t,
For a timeless soul, I’m just a broken host.
That beautiful things cannot be touched.
Broken things that don’t shine, cannot be compared to love,
Unless the delusion paints it in lighter shade, so he won’t fade.
Then they are loved the most,
For shining the lights of yellow seeping through your scars.
Darkest parts are hidden blue.
The starry night, when you see the end.
That hope stays far away and dead.
It’s not my yellow paint, it’s red
Genre: Death, sad, philosophical
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