Alone with yourself

I hope that when it is a Saturday at twelve o'clock at night and the weights of loneliness are leaving you overwhelmed in their existence, you won’t send a dove for the person who calls you friend when your particles no longer have the attraction that he seeks to belittle.

I want to have faith that when it's Sunday afternoon and your ears burn from the echo of your footsteps, you don't think about going back to streets where the dead are better left in ashes than caught in the wounds on your back.

I have to believe that if you are in the park and the space is too big for your bones, but too small for your demons, you won't look at the buildings with a passion on your lips that no one has ever received from you.

I hope that when you are locked in your soul with slippery fingers you don’t fall into the sins that have brought you to my memory, that you actually remember the shine in the tears of your pain and that you repeat your name as if it were the only prayer of salvation that you will ever need when the world sucker punches you

 

Ta.