A Cliche of the Ill-Fated

Six straight bottle of beers Pick yourself up, walk in the clear My last text was a revelation Your response was a mere reaction Of what comes for us tomorrow. You built a barrier of cashmeres A deafening silence calling for tears But a smirk is all I can give I don’t breathe agony. It’s not how I live Truth sets me free, the cliché disabled you from me You are now blinded by my reality It’s still me, the weird girl you once fancy I can only plead in silence My words to bend the stereotype of my decadence But this won’t keep me still, I need to pay the bill. Our short memories will be my reference A proof of being felt above the city of iridescence Thousand miles apart All I have is a pen and paper to deliver my heart To a definite, saddening, heartbreaking end Cheers! This expires the vague collage of our happy trend.