There is always a wall
Those black balloons
brought me back to colored,
tied to buried feelings
still burning in between ashes.
Not all is a track on the dust,
but a light tail on the dark sky.
Can you see the wall?
Close your eyes
suck it up.
Bansky. There is always hope.
Pick a small piece of lighting life, by the skin between lips, and create a map of present time with it. After all, wrap it up with other memories and share with your own soul.
That's the recipe for a life plenty of blues.