To the Idealist

Kicking wishes out of Dandilions,
and your windows bleed again,
Smoke that licks and burns your eyes,
The scent permeates your skin,
You're Waiting to be glass.
But the tremors rack the world,
and you wonder when you'll shatter,
The stong and fragile girl.
So you turn to try to flee,
He's the smoke that paints the walls,
And he invades your heart and lungs.
Will you crash and burn and fall?
Biting down against your tongue.
Watching the workings of the world,
a heart that is a star,
And you keep it on your sleeve,
but now you have a scar.

Where your heart
was supposed to be.