i like the way
he smokes his cigarettes,
a puff of smoke
coming out of
his curved lips,
lips that
give me a wicked
smile before
walking away
without a word,
and i am left once
again, imagining
of seeing him again,
and gathering some
courage to tell him
everything,
but that courage
disappears everytime
he appears in front
of me, with another
lit cigarette, and
another wicked smile.

and it's five am,
and i should be getting
ready do to something,
anything,
but no,
i decide to
sit on the cold,
white bathroom floor,
with a lit cigarette,
and an empty bottle
of wiskey next
to me,
while in the bedroom,
my lover sleeps peacefully
on the squeaky, messy bed,
and patiently awaits
fot my arrival
back in bed,
which will never come.

only five,
clueless about
life,
thinks it's all
rainbows and flowers,
but soon life
will be his worst
nightmare,
and it will be
the storm after
the calm,
life will come
to him as a
heavy rain shower,
in which he will
get wet and
catch a **cold.