I found light in a glass of whiskey.
My throats are burning, my room is a mess and I am hoping that one day I will see tigers from my windows.
I have spilled my liquor, I have dreamed like caged peanuts and I am alone like a deserted cactus…
There’s a women standing like a curved monument on my doors,
she is a magic, she is a addiction you only entertain during your death…
I feel like I am a poet and my death is in my despondency.
People live for a wink and people get bored in their ambitions…
I have no ambition other than an unkempt whore and some miserable words.
Some of my friends say…’ man; publish your work, you are good. And most importantly you will get women through your publications.’
Well I have seen death in mockeries, I have seen genius in Commonwealth, I have raped oceans in my leisure…
I don’t need printed words in my eulogy,
I need yellow teeth and vertical Shadows as my hungover souls.
The day will come when I will not utter a word…but tell me when cosmology believed in melancholic comets?

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Photograph: Google Images.