The Rest of My Life

It's August. I feel younger than ever.
Successively I get rid of the blast of bad energy,
scrupulously collected over the years,
and stored in precisely labeled boxes,
date, from who, how hard, and how much.

I was told to spill it over the balcony,
flush it down the toilet, throw it on the wind.
I wont spill, I wont forget, I wont ease off.

Don't leave my life. Don't leave my heart. Don't leave.
I am making room. For the rest of my life. And You.

I adore You sir, with a bottle of beer in your hand
a few weird months, drunk theories,
and in all honesty- I will kill anyone
who will try to write "chaos" and "drama" in between...