I don’t want to care about the harsh looks and disapproving cruelty.
I don’t want any more sharp tongues to pierce my stomach till they taste blood.
I don’t want the guilt in my mouth dry and suffocating like cotton balls.
I don’t want the day to taste of nausea and suicidal thoughts.
I only want the rhymes and the wines,
the times and sighs divine.
I only want the songs and the poems long,
I only want the light chasing after the fog.
I pine on the god-like freshness
that feels no pain, no boredom,
no pity for the lives not lived
but only that beautiful detached curiosity -
be amazed at how fast death can run.