Poetry

The template has
no commas. You have
taken away all my sleep.
I cannot breathe in your garden.

In remission who
wants another life? Blue
spots on my body invite
someone, to lick cobras bites.

It was sameness.
You were repeating yourself
forgetting that one day words
may lose the prowerss.

The art of dying
was very weird. You wanted
to defeat yourself. Eager
to know who were you.