I rise to my death

I tremble to my resurrection

I run for the season tickets of my cynicism 

I fail to grasp the humor of my hopes

I cherish the love stains on the fuck bed 

I mystify the leftovers of our meal

I run this

This is my futile contribution

This is a depressive highpoint of just another curve

This sucks

This resonates in eternity

This feels good

This is not a blanket

will you hug me?