Blood stains on my skin...
Like dust stains nightstands...
Without the light...
You won't see the dirt running around...
...
Calling for a friend...
While trapped in prison...
Its hard to make a shadow...
When the sun doesn't look at you...
...
Millions and millions of particles floating within the seasonal change...
Losing a voice that screeches beyond the horizon...
Calling for a proper burial at night...
...
But as I continue to float away...
I sometimes forget how cracked my clouds are...
Especially when I ride on them...
They don't like me at all...
As I began to fall...
Soon I will crawl...
With no one in sight...
I will call to the open stars...
And receive nothing but glitter...
Decorative rain to my plateau...
I only wish that I can go...
...

To the great statues that aren't melting with gold...
To those whom are bold enough...
Like a caterpillar facing a bull...
Those that will bleed while walking...