Nebulous Horizon
I told the truth
and still, someone bled.
Silence would have stitched us shut,
a delicate, rose-gold lie—
woven into the wallpaper
of a bedroom left sketched.
I thought I was choosing clarity,
but the mirror fogs each morning.
Future—blunted, gray—
looms like wet brick pavements.
No signs, only echoes of footsteps—
taunting like the choices I regret.
This morning,
I climbed the roof before the city stirred.
The sun split the clouds,
warmed my skin but skipped my heart—
Guilt prefers to feast on trembling cold.
Tomorrow arrives in haze.
The city dyed a flowing gold—
nowhere to place my next step.
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