I caress my fragile head
A womb of emotions for you
A cave carved by enslaved fingers
To make room for your ego
Painted walls with the color crimson
From torn fingers

Windows flooded by light
Purging its sorrows on departure
You retaking everything again

You come to me fiction
You come to me
A strange concept
You come as a white page
like a punctual spring
With or without warning

Feeling another wave of labor
New rumors are born
I script them into condolences
Send them as gift cards
To all your hollowed-out victims

But I'm still here
Grieving the gone
Nursing the feeble
Preparing condolences
For my replacement
Waiting my turn in the spring room