Ghosted by you in Toulouse.I had nothing to gain, I had nothing to lose.Just a moment, like the one we had in June.Can you call my name like then?Just let me drown in your scent.Your hand on my chest.Our heads side by side.Our hearts, our minds, not adhering to the rules of time.Alive in the infinity, when Julember turned into 1965.Never wanted to sleep.Never wanted to dissolve this.We just lay there.Staring at the moon.Dreaming of Toulouse.I guess I never did get the news.That you weren’t really into dudes.
Now is all we really have.We know that tomorrow will likely come.One day, it shall not pass, instead it will be our essence that has the last laugh.Everything will be repurposed, recycled, or re-used.What remains will be artefacts, an expression of a nature that wasn’t built to last.
Not brushed my teeth since your death.I know you’d still kiss me,I know you’d be able to fix this mess.Eating everything to eating nothing with little to no rest.Couldn’t be at your funeral, couldn’t answer your parents last call,I hope they all hate me, I hope they read about my fall.I hope they feel nothing at all.I hope they breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t exist any more.Who knew how slowly time passes when you are trapped in all these decaying thoughts.Feeling good makes me feel worse.Feeling, argh!Fist to the face with a handful of ibuprofen, drowned out by downing a bottle of vodka.How did I get in this state.How did I allow myself to fall in love.
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!Angels -- twice descendingReimbursed my store --Burglar! Banker -- Father!I am poor once more!
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shouldersBut I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;I afflict my own destinyAnd don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.I’ve made peace with God on my lossesAnd agreed with him on the epitaphsThat should be written about my senseless wars.