I, sometimes, crave for something
To call my own.
.
I, sometimes, crave for someone
To call me their own.
.
But what I crave for the most
Is for someone to call myself.
.

I want a love who
loves me dearly,
I want a love who
loves me well.
.
I want to be taken
by the hand,
I want to be guided
out of hell.
.
I want a heart that
is beating wildly,
I want a perfect match
for mine.
.
I want a flame that
lasts forever,
and slowly burns me
from the inside.
.
I want a dream that
goes on forever,
I want it to always
be the night.

I looked into my father's eyes
and they were frantic, panic-stricken,
pupils blown and all.
.
I looked down to my father's hands
and they were trembling, unsteady,
they reminded me of home.
.
I focused on my father's breathing
it was erratic, irregular,
it probably reminded him of his life.
.
I remember him wheezing out
"I think I'm dying, this is it."
trembling hands pressed against his chest.
.
And I kneeled down in front of him
my knees steady and unshakable,
and I hoped he was jealous.
.
I remember I looked at him and said
"No, father, this isn't your death
it's simply consciousness"
.
I can still taste the sick satisfaction,
the sly grin as I reckoned,
that those were probably the same for him.