For decades, I was that lonely stranger
stranded in the poor shell of humdrum
Awaiting the sun to get enshrouded by the dark lining of darkness
so the moon could breed a light, as dull as a ditchwater
But who am I, to jest the moon
For me- a subdued being- a clown cloned
by a tragedy called Heartache

A whole month, I had kept spruceness on me,
sprayed sandalwood and patchouli on my pitted suit
which I had acceded from my Abuelo, a chain-smoker whose lips; as black as darkness
And when he belches,
even the strongest of all froghopper wouldn't combat to breathe its last

But tonight, the moon seems a slender crescent,
I shall tour the boulevard and importune my loneliness,
Tonight let it be ephemeral like the fortuity life brings-
Life, today is a bed of roses, and tomorrow, a thorn in the flesh-
Today as sweet as a vial of rose oil- and tomorrow, as bitter as wormwood
Tonight, let me move towards a Demoiselle