There was a moment passing as he watched the sky; tragedy was singing whilst the angels wore cosmetics,

A desirable scene from a movie so monochromatic,

His lilac hair - in opposition to his morality - oh, how the sky flinched in disgust; a periwinkle contrast to a hair with faux-clarity, 

Iconic thinking, No trouble with drinking, His lightbulb was still on and there was no point in stopping,

Suffocated by a blanket of thoughts, he swiveled and turned, knocking some precious liquid on the bedside in turn,

The bottles were empty, tainted glass that once looked pretty, He often made a song by clinking two bottles, saw the beauty in noise; A broken sound for a broken man,

Learning her laughter, a cipher which he had remembered, a complete memorization on repeat in his inebriated mind; a pesky scale that won't chip off from his fragile shell,

Wine pouring as blood, he chugs it down, feeling too fancy; the morbidity clambering inside his veins, and his gut screaming sanity!

He was probably going crazy, but he remained calm nevertheless, Kept company by his friends that always stuck by him: a pint of ice cream and an empty bottle of Hennessy,

Heart racing like a '77 Camaro, it was even red -- redder than his bloodshot eyes -- thrumming the lost notes of a John Mayer song, and he was off; drove away a kilometre with his 77' Camaro heart,

The path to the bathroom was longer than never before; maybe he dreamt along the way, driving a red car at midnight, a guitar tune in the radio,

Tears - that's what comes out when he can't sleep, he cries himself to slumber: for a peaceful night's rest, to reset the day from zero to zero: the gift of simple nothing,

It's too much for him, the broken relationship that was once a fortress; now left with the remains of a white dress and a mountain of broken vows;

Tragedies were sitting in the edges of each bottle cap, flinging; Desirably monochromatic, but never the movie scene he imagined to be living in