you were misfortuned to love,

such a soul who could not hold it.

yet we still loved,

but all for a moment.

like a sun on fresh eyes,

i see you when they're pressed.

i see what you wanted,

and granted you less.

i could leave on a chariot,

and write my own death,

whatever that hides what i left.

a few walls and a floor,

that i've turned to my bed.

i could say that I'm sorry,

but I'd rather be dead.