foreign meekly mind of mine,
travelling miles with horizon’s smiles.
back there, i couldn’t bear
to spill myself and dance with gloom.
my heart has a vast of space
to blast off great days,
leaving a room for a dark embrace.
i guess we don’t need the rain
when eyes had completed the water cycle.
puffy, reddish and rubbed from pain.
i don’t have a fucking bicycle
to ride away in great distances
because those clouds’ existence
up in the blue bed of the hidden,
don’t seem to look the same.