162

Exfoliation

Exfoliation

as if all problems

were magically solved

by just taking

dead creatures off,

by just removing

some of my dirt,
as if by that means

the wound that hurts

were a spot to extirpate.

Yet am I incapable

of getting that done;

who am I fooling?

I still miss your touch,

your tender caress,

your thuthful smile,

your lovely green eyes

when you're not around.

Why is it even today

so hard to say goodbye?

only to find out

that it's just me in bed,

in fact, nostalgia and I.

When will it come that day,

that liberation day,

when I finally put an end,

not a dash but a final stop;

then that big box

with your name on

is finally locked out?

I hope it will happen

soon after this poem

is released as a sort of prayer

so as to prevent that film,

those repeated scenes,

that well known script

from going on and on.