burns under my feet
suck on concrete trying to get out
we create piano sounds
when turning the empty room on fire
we walk trough the snow of soft thorns


I like it
it hurts like... you...
you hurt indeed
I hurt too, in the womb.


when I used, I mean I still do...
I carry it, I dive in it...
Cannot forget about it.
My brain is torturing on my thoughts
without feeling guilty at all...




in the morning shall switch
the materialistic to the ghostly of being
I shimmer against the November wind
in the middle of the day
where I have lost my sense of time...
October must have taken it away.




Never came back home since when
I lost it... Lost my way in the stars
often sacrifice my body to the night sky
hoping for something in return
but there appeared no cloudy day cherishing me


Like wildcats fought the
things I supposed to keep to myself
have not struggled for anything
that was brought by someone else...


" I am my own god. I am the creator of me.
I am a false body hanging from the street lights.
I am a fucking imaginarium! Cannot believe how
can I even walk straight and talk with my mouth.


On the opposite I am what I am, I contain me
for a thousand times, and more egos grow with the time passed
I create me, I created something sensible and
have no regret for it. I crave for love, for anything
that keeps me alive..."