The Fire

My shiny wheels are rusting,

darkness is breeding 

The walls have heard me,

but none of thee.

The maddest echoes in my head,

worse than chalkboard scratch.

They call me out, 

but never heard me shout.

I can feel me breath,

even while drowning in waters of my grief.

Touch me to feel, the dwindling hope,

of being free.

My elegies feel like requiem.

Their words fly,

high like obnoxious winds.

Would you risk your delight,

 See my tears ricochet?

 I see the rose tinted glasses come off

Blaze burned hopes, expectations thrown 

like crumpled pieces of paper.

Everyday is a war zone, 

I try to write but the ink has dried,

the quill has twisted just like my fate.

Filled the cloth parchment with all my desires,

but what's the point of these 

When all my letters are addressed to fire..