I don’t mind writing poems for you every day.
It is the only place where I can make you stay.
I feel my mind burdened by your memories.
You silently tiptoed into my heart when I was running out of time.
Before I could face the last moments of my life,
hold my hand so I can feel heaven on Earth.
You made me weak when I saw you struggling
to hide your transparent lies behind your soft eyes and feeble cries.
You gave me butterflies that sent me roving beyond tranquil skies.
Now I am left with tobacco-stashed rolls meant only for dead souls.
You came down as rain, ran through my veins,
drove me insane, and at last left me with unbearable pain.