crushed cigarettes
smoke rising upwards
this city of regrets
is falling asleep
you and i go
into the twisting streets
and
trample the weeds beneath our feet
while
death swoops down above our heads
but
doesn't come to take us yet
the graffitied walls
call death's name and
he knows nothing
but to answer the call
swoop
a dying man
on the dirty ground
suffers no more
swoop
a happy girl
her family
suffers more than before
i look up
with tears in my eyes
and you ask
"what's wrong?"
"nothing really
it's just that
death is but a carrier
of suffering
and whatever he does
nobody loves him
and i think that's sad,"
i reply sullenly
you take it
for one of my ramblings
but still i wonder
if death loves
crushed cigarettes
hazy smoke over
the city
and
i am
in love
with
death.