Despite the distance, the disregard and your procrastinating in coming back, I still don't get that you will leave after so many days without a single farewell... that you will have a mistress with soft hands to wipe on your straight back, with coarse imprints to burn my remnants left in your sweating pores, and give you a fresh lease of life, the nostalgia sun is never able to penetrate... like the land that re-sculpted you, and probably from you it gave birth to a tribe, but not me, then she obliged you to make her inhabit our dreams... the same thing she did with your love for me.
She won't give birth to a daughter, in order to prevent you from thinking about the choice of a name for your guilt-laden genes, the guilt of running away from me.
You will collide with my name, in vain... Perhaps, she will dare singing you one of our songs, the one that are involved in our memories' throttle... the chants that stimulate your nerves until tearing my trembling voice in your headphones.
She will change your name and give you a delicious forgetting calendar and some features that will be absent on your face..
She will make you wear a white suit and a watch which doesn't believe in wait ... reserve you a table in the darkest corner of a restaurant with no equipment, but a fork that stabs me on the chest whenever you hold it in your hand... and a knife that will ravage my flesh whenever she feeds you with her guilty dirty hands.
She will own you, just the same as your car, house and even your cursed memory... and all I will get is a white sheet without destiny and images without authentication.
She will seize your spaces and fill them up with her plans... above my cry that you'd never receive. Then how can I learn the salvation though I kept turning behind secretly ?
I will leave you to live in the presence of the cold, and I am going to die every night I think you are sharing your life with her. Then I swear, I will be writing to you until you answer, and I will torture you with my letters of "I Love You to Death, but here I am rotting in your hate shroud"... I will attach every letter with a bullet of yours spreading death in my fed up body ... and I will announce that they are my journal to a sword that slaughtered me from vein to vein .