i burn my calendar
years of years of falling
losing myself
cursing yourself
tearing what was written by my hand

but im still hoping for the best
even in my golden grass
im still trying everything
to get you thinking of me

and i still talk to you
in my wildest dreams at night
i pray for your man in your bed
all of my best poetries
i sent down as your lullabies

one day
when i'm dying
would you pay me a visit?