My diary is too honest
for your eyes, what's the sense

in reading yourself unhappy
when I'm not there anymore
You may comfort yourself

with my serial of love
and connection, the odours
of the colourful life

I want to extend with might
and main, but you also know
that there's a sword beside me

that I go crazy because of the witches
in my body and the ghosts
in my head writing clauses

in the margins and notches
in your speechless soul
in our eternal love

in who we are