fatia

i declare in written ( so that i may not go back on it)
that i will write a book so moving
and a book so intense that no human being will ever be the same after reading it.
tall claim though it may seem.
yet it is a claim, perfectly innocent and striving.
and i have a right to be heard, to be waited for
till i can no longer distinguish between a desk from a human being.
maybe not even then.
not even when all i want to do is die without being dependant on anyone.
not even when im so busy making money that the reminiscent of this thought is so deep inside, that i might have to take a holiday to clean up my brain, and maybe come across it on some afternoon, sifting through old garbage.
all that
just because
i want to claim. and i have dared to claim.
and that claim to remain...
even after all that is left of me is a fatia on my kabr.