Cut yourself slowly on starry tips in a night sky.
Rub stardust roughly on your scars.
Make them beautiful.
Seaweed entangled in dark hair
drowning in the dark waters of his eyes
that shine through your past erroneous ways.
Sometimes you can't see past the smoke of your dreams turning to ashes-
and the fateful spark that lit it up remains forgotten.
Halogen lamps blind you on empty highways
as you speed past the place where he fell in love with her faithfully.
Fateful lines on your hand criss-cross into future somehows and maybes-
just waiting to happen.
Snaking past reason and logic-
inept words for a Saturday.
What is to be -will.
And Love is the four letter word tonight-
but then again, wasn't it always?
