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￭ LETTER. thinking of you
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I`d take this body of mine
And i`d throw it to the wolves!
I can`t exist anymore like this!
If I don`t put my soul for sale
I can`t pay the rate to the bank.
I`ll take this body and shy it
On the black market of passions:
If it can`t feel dew, mountain and sunrise
Then it should live in stinging salty iodate tears
Maybe I would make it cry,
And it would wash itself...
Because this carnal from life
It is so diseased of destiny
That I`m disappearing.
If I could only discern myself in this black dreams!
At least with one barked love undertone from within!
That disappears in the melodrama of infinite debts.
From the finite of my thoughts
That run towards hope!
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