I want pain.
I want a quick death.
I want the consolation of knowing
That today is the last day.
I want rotting bodies and carrion.
I want a hard ruler to come down on my soft hands.
I want the sunset.
I want to believe in existence,
And have it fade away upon the slightest touch.
I want brown, leather bags.
I want the pitter-patter of rain drops,
Like marching soldiers on rooftops.
I want chrysanthemums.
I want cold steel.I want hope,
Just to have it run down my cheeks like tears.
I want salt.
I want weathered books.
I want to stand,
Even while the ground is blown over
Like a pile of dead leaves.
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