People confess to me every day
and I can't take it anymore.
I have gained respect for people
whom I never knew before.

This will be my job, later
or I can become a waiter,
not a writer, because a
hobby so scarce, should not become
an empty promise.

She had the guts ro rob me
of my most important days
for now. She didn't even say
why she left.

She wanted to get rid, afraid
to start another role, enlargening
her lies, making it harder to
accept herself.

I'm guessing the best forms
of inspiration are those
like storms, heavy, strong
and not that long. In time
she'll understand.