Rust.

All we can do is dream,
keep chasing after silver streams—
dollar signs flash as we speed by.
The only certainty is that we die.

Distorted reality blurs meaning,
tragedies occur without reason.
Hope waivers, careening,
The truth is rarely appeasing.

Tempered glass shatters;
the shards on the floor look like diamonds.
Survival is all that matters,
when my head hides wailing sirens.

One day, my sun refused to rise,
broken down from shining over lies.
Nightfall never left my side,
no visibility in a charcoal sky.

Though I braved storms
earthquakes, and landslides,
suddenly the feather wind
even bruised my pride.

What do you tell two tired feet,
or hands wrinkled from wringing?
Not even paradise itself could
stop my shuttered eyes from stinging.

When faith runs out,
carrying on seems pointless.
Sometimes success even
prefers avoidance.

That is when I start to sink.
I melt like wax on the parquet flooring.
Scrutinize every crack then
accost myself for ignoring it.

I become a magnet for suffering,
repelled by my own self-detriment.
Copper, as I blush then rust.
Seizing up, I crumble to dust.