I am going to pick shadows
before it ends...

As I write this last letter, the sun dies in my...
my vowels and consonants carry my shame and cross...

I'm living.
come back later, around eleven...

I look around
while everything sleeps...

By the end of the day,
we are older and it's undeniable clear...

Welcome to my today.
the door is ajar...

Now that february insults me more
and the room is too small...

There is no comfort.
you look at the invisible sky but nothing is...

She is just a foreigner
with a surname difficult to spell...

These fragile walls built between us
were made of dark fire and shame...

The melody will linger on
but her lonely sonatas are over...

He raped grammar;
misspelling life...