When I hold the pen,
it trembles in my hand; the poem...

A grim reminder.
Ah! the lunar cycle again...

Sipping the light
from moon, playing with...

Let the commerce begin
in moral crimes...

Knife for knife.
Shadows were chasing...

The particles,
spreading a weird cult...

Joining the names,
a nameless melancholia crosses a borderland...

Addictive in shambles, that was
cognitive decline...

Blurring of words
takes place. Lead the light, O Sun...

Not thinking of you
in vacant mood...

I was not capable of
contradicting the quietness...

I tried to sleep
under the sun at night. From moon...