in the dark room
without curtains
on the window

the bold have withered
like the fish
out of water

I hid the moonbeams
cut their threads
without distinction

I hid your collection
of the sharp things
that made you subjective


And the stars are so cold
representing a life that was lost
the lost were the bold
that paid at such a cost


you made a promise
just so
you could break it

you told a lie
with red ribbons
around pink carnations

So on the morning
of deliverance
you made an exception

like the train
down at station
you looked good in cold