I do not believe in luck,
Because if I did, I would have to call this life
Unlucky.
The days spent in shadow are piled in my closet,
I would like to ask for my money back,
But I forget who I paid.

Luck has nothing to do with sadness.
Sadness comes when it’s called,
And when it’s not.
Disobedient dog, unwanted houseguest,
You should lock up your refrigerator; sadness will rot what’s inside.
You should lock up your daughter; sadness will rot what’s inside.

Luck has nothing to do with what beats in my chest,
And yours,
And hers.
If our existence is pure luck,
Our veins would only be filled with blood
Her veins would only be filled with blood
But there are matches in her smile
And gasoline on her tongue.

Nothing, about any of that, is lucky.
But that does not mean it is wrong.

Luck has nothing to do with science
And science has everything to do with why I can’t breathe
in your presence.
There are millions of synapses firing in my brain,
I have whispered your name to each and every one
So they would know what to look for.

When I see you,
I also see smoke.