i am a dried fish under fire,

in desperate need of aqueous relief.

kindly read my letter and know

it's just like old times
right after the first end
of you and i~

desolate, retired from my cramped brain,

i imagine you and my blood boils

so scalding it seeps through the pores

of my skin.

haughtily, narcissisticly, this

isn't the last letter i will write to you

in my condition of cognitive incapacity.

but you make me feel,

and then i don't know what to do.

and i guess, then, it's okay.