Broken

The dreamcatcher’s threads had turned soar,

Though knitted tightly they broke away,

Then along with the window sill, they pallidly flew,

Singing praises of nature’s cruel play.

 Papers wettened and tore away,

 Flying notes of my shattered love,

 Flying into the clouds of heaven,

 Flying up, buoyant above.

The wells of water all droughted up,

Passing the water as tears in my eyes,

Unto my cheeks pacified down my neckline,

Inside my still body, those tears cry.

Enough times I kill myself away,

And thousands of lives I ought to die,

To regain my love in heaven at least,

Or at least in hell, I wish to fly.