Someday I will exhaust myself with your thoughts and no memory.
Someday I will walk around the earth with little bit of smell of you in my lungs.
A candle will burn out with its silent protest for existence.
Cold nights will eventually die out in dry unconscious dreams of endearments.
Creative block won’t be overshadowed by silent revolution of your curves.
I won’t stand tall inside the whirlpool of world’s last tornedo.
My body will release its last toxic perspiration on the hideous blanket around me.
A smile will take me to the other side of the stream.
But today I will smoke and fly over my roof.
And holding your hand I will hide behind my psychotic break down.
Today I won’t drink and write the last poem for you.
But perhaps someday.