Spring seems to have died,
I’m inhaling the scent of rotten lilacs.
I taste the chocolate you brought me...
Drunk, I smoke a cigarette,
but I can’t feel it.
I drag my feet lightly on the road, slamming the rough soles of cowboy boots.
I cry,
I want something that doesn’t exist in nature,
something immaterial.
I can still feel your cold hand on my shoulder.