The stars are dull; my mind’s just a skull.
The sky doesn’t fly, I just wish to die.
Heart’s just a simple pump, skin witnessing goose bumps.
My hand’s alone, just a set of bones.
Eyes are waterfalls, reminding our endless calls.
Sleepless are my nights, just staring at those flights.
The rain seems dirt, as you aren’t around to flirt.
I’ve lost my fame, as you played your game.
The King’s becoming weak, turning into a fool much freak.
On myself I’m a curse, and a worst written verse.
Being honest and true,
I’m nothing without you.
--- HARSH MISTRY
Copyright © Harsh Mistry | Year Posted 2019