They no longer ask for my age
When I buy a pack
Guess, I look the part now
A broken man, a hunched back

No longer, am I stopped
As slowly I kill myself
Ligthing one after the other
As they prepare an urn for the shelf

They know I don’t like it
They know I don’t care
They know this won’t end well
But no one ever pulls up a chair

I don’t wanna kill all of me
Only the parts that loved you
But you know, it’s all of me
Thus my mind staged this coup

When I’m gone and you are here
No one will remember
This slow passing of time
Like forgotten leaves of Spetember

Come visit me one last time
Wish me luck, say your prayer
After what you made me do, atleast
Pay two coins for the fare

Art: Mark Rothko - Black in Deep Red (1957)