How unfair!

How unfair of emptiness to whisper lullabies of loneliness when I'm sleeping in a crowd.
Sour touch of depression colors the night sky in sick green with humming ghosts wide awake discussing their dead past that sleeps amongst the dust.
How unfair of silence: a cloud of chaotic absence to roam around my head at night as she sings, if your heart was full of love would you give it up?
I don't know.
But what about angels,
that have fallen.
I feel they love harder.
The one with an empty cup, or probably a broken one, would know the suction of blackhole that is thirst,
they would never let any cup be empty, at least.
Together, words jumble up: my silence beaded with inked alphabets crowned on my head, invisible.
Eyes slowly sealing with the glue of trance,
Body untouched, yet,
The cup of soul empty, again.