It’s her gift that I smile, More often than I could. It’s her gift that I love, More often than I would. It’s her gift that I believe in living, More often than I should…

It’s such a beautiful day to die today, Nothing is coming my way, No more pressure and nothing to say, I think it’s time for a summer spray…

I fear to lose you more than losing my life, I wonder is there any difference between the two? My fears may be unfound but still I fear, And this fear is eating me to the point, That I can’t live without loving you even more…

And the memories of your childhood scar, Photographs, dimples and glasses, Recollection of the scent of your naked skin, And after shower hair, You should know and learn to forgive me, For the innocent things I do to you inside my mind…

To each eyes that you comfort, You mean something different. As if a thousand lives that you have lived, You could be anything to anyone. I wonder how you would like to be remembered. To me you are the sweet maiden, Who is busy writing my life on paper. Or are you a story I am living, Through your dove like eyes…

There are no bad memories that haunt me, No good memories to hold on too. Neither a giver of hope nor receiver of any. Neither the seeker of the first dawn nor the last. Neither the worshipper of number nor of any name. All I want is to be my own lover, Let me be my own first and the very last desire,

Please make me a part, Of all your innocent rituals in red, And then tie me up with your yellow knots, Until I am sober in my head…

I got some Herbs, I need some bones, From the graves of our past, Let’s burn some skeletons without soul, Let’s sniff some more gum and coal…

As I age half dead, without grace, The triumph of the pills and the bills, Shadow, my shadow, my widow, Breathe in, breathe in and breathe out, The signature of stigma as I vaporize in the sun, Into the clouds, my grave, and then rebirth,