ambiguous-transparency:

My words are weightless like dead skin falling 
into the void within the peeking crevices of your perfection.

(You scratched the scribbles until they screamed, screamed 
like forgotten fables overwritten with pointless profanity.)

I poured my clothes onto the floor and the scars glistened 
in the light like depression presses onto the corners in your 
brain and rosy stains from flowers received, wilted too long ago.

(What are your best memories? My memories consist of drunken 
mornings and sober nights, fragments of fleeting feelings written 
haphazardly with half-dried permanent marker on clouded mirrors.)

Waiting impatiently for patience to enlighten your mobile device 
is just as meaningless as the sweet whispers flashed and compressed 
into pixels you cannot caress; my words are weightless like dead 
skin falling into the void within the overcrowded crevices of my flaws. 

(Lost art is not lost nor forgotten because we metamorphosed into 
disgusting beings and we crave to better ourselves, while showering 
in mindless conversations and avoidable pollution, worthless corruption.) 

You took my world for granted but paid such heavy words to dwell in it.