your tongue is the lands where
i harvest sugarcanes and dates...
the sounds are getting louder
and the wick is losing its fire...
You often flare in darkness,
and I see you in the dim side...
I play "Gymnopédie No. 1" to a home
busy with ghosts and painted apathy...
I often lay awake at night
somewhat due to insomnia...
Here?
I told you. Gloomy are the days of the...
Last night, I looked in
the mirror, and wasn't...
Why bother speaking
when you question all I've said...
They swayed
into darkness...
Am I a bad person?
I didn't know it was trauma...
We sit here
and wait...
From dust to rebirth
like pollen particles...