CDee
ID:23669228
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wood table, cold cup
ice clinks a tiny jazz rhythm,
I sit. Time taps its toes.



Cloud hunter, eyes full of hope,
Searching skies where dreams float
Trying to find a place to belong
In shapes that vanish before long.




I thought something good was finally mine,
A light that dared to break the line
But dreams turned dust beneath my feet,
And hope lay dead on a silent street




A hand reached in… the drinks went down.
Now lemon’s gone, and wine’s half dead,
They're all in someone's head instead.



















