Mersault's kind of soul

i don't know how much
and what you desired
you've never talked enough
or maybe i've never tried

to listen to you weeping quietly
between your own thighs
for better passing times
not even yours, you realize

that every single accident
wasn't even noticed
and your long disappearances
also knows as 'never missed'

gave you kind of longing
for years you've never felt
in your bruised, wiped mind
that says he cannot held

your decadence any longer
he doesn't know what you desired
he just remember when you died
and no one even cried