A mythical chimera galloping against the direction of the wind
7 different philosophies divided over the 3 of your heads
Your neck is always covered
in hickeys and pus-leaking bites of disgust

I watch you as you lift the red wine glass up to your lips and loose myself in the conviction
that you too would have found a way to break the sea
if only it had not been army troops crusading after you, but another past withdrawn and tremoring loveress persecuting you for the feeling of your high

She has been picking up filthy cigarette butts from the ground and she gets drunk with strange men in the night,
for that is the closest she can get to you
again
without you deserting yet another brand-new city and another untouched life
as you blemish those of them around you like candles staining the white table cloth with irremovable hot wax and the ceiling with cough-provoking soot as they are yet to decide whether they ever want to burn out or not.

Despite of the transience you so desperately try to project
There is a part of you in every speck of light and shadow
That is perceived by both
your waken and your resting eye.
You cannot outrun the light.