Poezja

excuse me mr.,
before you leave
let me tell you something
that i think, you must know
that again, you blew it
you fire starter
you suicide bomber
ripping yourself apart
eating your tongue
and sipping your newspaper brew
spitting out,
i thought you have nothing
but only pure intentions
nothing but disarrayed constellations
of damp towels, of yellow arm band
buffed and swelling muscles
click!
in a snap
a shot
you stepped back
an empty space
between crooked shadows
a lifeline
a cocktail of pathos
sleeping,
drowning,
fleeting,
so after all these waiting
now tell me,
are you coming back?