you always claim to be so different
and inevitably you end up being just one more
right among what's average.
I hate average.
statistics destroy dreams
but still not as easily as you destroy mine.

so many times I found you
cutting through the rope I was so closely holding on.
I kept the knives away from you -
they were so many, they were so shiny.
with needle and thread on my shaking hands,
I was always ready to handle
the damage on the fucking string.
I kept making stronger and stronger knots.
hell, I have even learnt the fisherman's knot -
lesson 1.01 on ships and sailing.

ropes are tricky,
my hands are burnt
with all the pushes and pulls -
it's time to take care of these wounds now,
I thought.

in a glimpse,
I ran back to where it all started,
all the storms, all the waves.
I reached out for the knives, yours'.
I have been sharpening them.

I have one in my hand, right now,
what will I do with it?

I am out of matches,
but that does not mean that
I have stopped smoking -
lonesome and selfish habit.

find the logic in this fucking sequence.