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The rope on your roof 

is empty 

without your wet clothes to 

hug it .

The perfume water 

lies abandoned 

on your dressing table , 

wondering if you took 

its name too seriously,

“surrender”. 

Your half scratched

 bucket list can’t 

gather enough courage 

to finish (burn ) itself.

Your shower drips 

with droplets with 

no one to turn 

the knob of the

tab until it stops.

The tip of your tongue 

 is dried without any

 taste of salty water on it.

The letter informing

 of your departure 

has flown under your bed , 

held by four wooden legs 

which creak 

under the weight of 

stool on which you 

stand with a halter 

around your neck . 

I guess everyone is alone.(?) 

The rope.

The perfume water.

The bucket list.

The shower. 

The tongue.(the tears ??) 

The words . 

You .(?)

Please.

Don’t.

Go.(give)

Yet.(up) 

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