The game is vicious, soothing wounds, elongating
pains; a lighter to a cigarette, those years, those bottles—my liver! Too poor
to get her, too rich to lose her—the torch in the porcelain; so enlove with
living, so caught by dying, looking at Jesus—much faith, a jungle inside, maps
to planes outside. Made it closer to my kidneys, at my milk with misery, at
Love with big respect; worried about dying, looked at like crazy, a man comes
to face his mortality; so immortal with literature, unless it comes to perish,
unless technology forfeits the ghost. Never would care, so high, lost my
daughter—don’t worry, she’s back! So close to a dungeon, smiling with Love,
laughing like it feels good to cry; never gave a care, until those eyes, they
might give up, I’ll be rockets until millenniums. Aware it hurts, just to look
at it, like damn my life! If born to survive, why is it fair?
