Why do you change with every new second?
Because if that’s what makes you beautiful,
Showing new colors with every time you change?
If that’s what makes you pretty, if thats the beauty,
Is that journey as joyful as she thinks it is?
Blinkers, you comfort her like if your entreaty for her is to smile.
As if you flicker on beats of happiness,
If that’s what rhythm of happiness is?
Your incomplete existence of colors,
Your flicks and flaunts,
Teasing her dead face that shines with your flares,
As in uncertainty of your sparkles have stories to tell,
Are those stories of comfort or stories of miseries?
They say be like flowing water taking shape of everything it fits into,
But why does your preexisting pattern of hidden tales fit into her mind?
As if you were always this thoughtful,
Or is it just her you are reassuring good times to?
Its scary, as in the instance you stop gleaming,
She will wobble in spine-chilling darkness.
Opt to twinkle and flare every moment,
Or else she will be lonely in the Dark.