i wrote to you

before this

something more untruthful

leaves wind touch soft

the bullshit

i can come up with easily

wordplay

in place of

foreplay

the truth

i shouldn't say

goes like this:

i still walk

to places

but my feet stammer

i found my

direction in life:

towards the grave

i became

a caricature

of myself

a stereotype

of something

no one desires

while

you invincible

more and more beautiful

you will say

'this is another kind

of bullshit

he can come up with

easily. self pity.'

and you are right

but know this

i can no longer

keep calm