The darkness in me
is as vacant as I am...

Days are withering in vain
corroding like my chain...

At last
my bloom is withering...

Last petal on a rose,
last rose on the season's bough...

I picked the apple,
took a bite, crushed in between...

Ephemeral things
are burning so, in search of...

We keep on going
for we are not really...

I am always living
the horror of tomatoes...