_To those who have a soul_
The shrine of loneliness musing...

If I have been in your town
for some times...

Actually
it was in the apple of your eyes...

Windchill is howling in my veins,
as on the windows of these trains...

Love me incomplete,
the way I am, otherwise...

The crucifixion of these geometrical shapes
in the air...

O little Orphan boy, little orphan boy
you do not need to hide your fear anymore...

Be a hug for me
that my cries could calm in its cradle...

Yoyos are orbicular,
like everything else...

To go on going somewhere,
and that’s...

Your smile,
the white queue of musical tone...

The shrine of loneliness
the involuntary prison of choice...