I'm fond of this image of him,
sweet, vulnerable, gentle.
He knows all my games,
and still he crawls to me.

I feel seen,
almost protected
almost loved.

And I can't help but wonder,
in the late Saturday morning
what would have been of us.

If only he had learned how to read,
my poetry, my soul, my self,
if he had listened to
my voice, my plea, my cry.

But for him I was invisible,
and just like in chess
I learned how to end a king,
with foolish moves.

And March came by
but its presence started to feel heavy
during the end of February.

The days start to be longer,
and my eyes are forced to close
on my way back home.

Soon the flowers will start to bloom,
the cold won't longer reach my bones
and the people will be marching on the streets.

With the welcome of spring
I wonder under the starry night
What else will I have to say goodbye to?

As every spring my soul rots
as the strawberries inside my fridge,
a curse I still don't know how to break.

Tell me you’re only mine
Even if you’re lying
Look me in the eyes
Tell me you love me
And that im the only one for you
I don’t care if im delusional
As long as I feel happy again

If I needed
to be reminded
by any person-
I'd have been
someone who's half-dead!

Who should I be?
I've got people telling me
I should change
in my dreams.
I should change the way I am,
how I think,
what I want.
So, how am I supposed to change?
I know nothing besides my name
and an unhealthy obsession towards loneliness,
and my future must already have
a dateline written somewhere in the Infinite
because for today
I can't see past my Sunday morning shift.