One day I'll have left enough traces of myself
In this world.
I'll have stained one thousand red wine glasses
With carmine.
I'll have laughed so much that my breath
Lays bare on every window.
I'll have painted bathroom tiles with
Stray strands. And I'll have let fresh linen
Lap up sweet perfume. Loved so much that my lips
Ache.
I'll have carved myself a hole in this
Mud (big enough for a village),
And I'll have screamed so loud
That the wind feels like a whisper.
One day my face will be like paper -
Traced with graphite wrinkles.
But I want to leave so much of myself
On this earth
That the rain won't be able to wash me away.
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 9:46 AM UTC
One day I'll have left enough traces of myself
In this world.
I'll have stained one thousand red wine glasses
With carmine.
I'll have laughed so much that my breath
Lays bare on every window.
I'll have painted bathroom tiles with
Stray strands. And I'll have let fresh linen
Lap up sweet perfume. Loved so much that my lips
Ache.
I'll have carved myself a hole in this
Mud (big enough for a village),
And I'll have screamed so loud
That the wind feels like a whisper.
One day my face will be like paper -
Traced with graphite wrinkles.
But I want to leave so much of myself
On this earth
That the rain won't be able to wash me away.