I met you back then at the basketball court, introduced by boys in
Pali scarves who said that you were Afghan. Black hair and
dark complexion, scent more aromatic, calls me to use 5x a day like
the Fatiha. It wasn't love at first or second thought, but we knew the relationship would mature. That's how I met you often: common to everyone, for sale on the streets, your love was easy to enjoy. To this day I never forgot: the first time you fucked me, I was so exhausted
that I thought I was going to pass out in the middle of the club somewhere I had you with me.
At first I felt nothing for you, except for the unusual stimulus in my lungs, which immediately forced me to cough. I've never been one of the good
boys, but with you I was faithful, you connected my heart and my dreams
. I have dedicated many hours to you, more than to myself, and have seen that you do not keep your promises. Why do you destroy our
will to action instead of satisfying hatred and expand not the mind
but only the pupils? You are a sword with two edges and it's hard for me to understand that people suffer psychosis because of love from you. And that's why I'm ending it now, I'm sorry, but I am must. My desire
became an addiction, and consumption instead of enjoyment. Someday we'll see each other again,
maybe, maybe not. But until then I'll stay solo and high
of the moment. Grass, baby.