When the day gave up too

There were days 

with watermelon

And now there are sad suns

With whiskey

The valleys were darker than ever. There was no sun today. It was so dark, but the moon wasn't there too. Were they too tired to come out? Why didn't they gather courage like me today? Why aren't they here when I need them the most?

The valley is thin cemented with walls enclosing me with a sick smell of alcohol and smoke. It was as if it it killing me, the smoke and the smell of overly ripe grapes. 

There was something, that made even tears hard to come out. I was choking on my own breath. I was the only oxygen in this carbon dioxide. But for a moment my molecules became so lonely, they were tempted to be a part of the contaminant. To be contaminated. It killed me. Everything did today. The smoke, the alcohol, the chainsmokers, they're dead looks, their high eyes. I never felt more exposed. Infact, I was so exposed that even if the sunlight were here, it couldn't make me more naked.

Being broken is what the valleys taught me. The air was fed up, dying to mix with the clean air. But it was so trapped, so dead that it didn't even want to be there anymore. These walls saw happy times once. Young children, with lemonade fights and spoon races. Today these children have grown up fighting for weed and spoons of sadness. It was a recipe of death, these walls spelt. A cup of forgotten memories, my storehouse of withered love, a teaspoon of alcohol and a tablespoon of sadness. Cook at smoked air, and desolate love and you've brewed yourself a recipe of death. 

Everything was so sad, that even the day couldn't come up today to break the darkness. It felt hopeless. White dresses and barefoot girls with cut hair was all it saw. No more flowers, no more doves and no more sunsets. It was so tired.  So tired that it couldn't listen to the shouts of those birds which wanted to wake up to the first ray of the sun. So tired that it couldn't bear the tears of the girl who liked bathing in the sun. So tired that it couldn't bear the pleads of the married couple of watching the sunrise. So tired that it was yearning to let go. 

So it swallowed itself in it's rays of radiating sadness. There was no more sun and no more moon. It was void. Just nothing. We were hanging here. I was hanging here. But you still weren't there. 

Because today my forest is dark

the tress are sad

 all the butterflies

Have broken wings