Never play the
“Why would anyone ever want me?” game

When you’re unkind to yourself
You will know no worse
and deserve no better

Like Bukowski says,
Bet on the muse
in those moments of fleeting abandonment

We exterminate the love
we really deserve
and we keeping going back
expecting more

Always at a lack
Like hungry ghosts
in the stair case

Do we dare to dream for something to say?

Or do we keep it inside?
Until we wither
wither
away