I wrote pages and pages, I carved the paper.
I know the destination. Is there no way to save myself?
Into darkness of sorrow, here I am to erupt my pain,
getting rid of ocean of twines entangled
in the unconscious.

Tonight storms will come back to daze,
the wind shall come to howl among the leaves,
rain will conceal verses and rhymes,
impressed and vivid in my tired mind.

Neither the poetries maybe will be enough,
those imprecise writings engraved on the walls.

Inner bites seem be loosened,
it’s a pleasure sense.
Here, I know at first blaze of light
reality returns to show her evil might,
remembering I’m still much alive.

I’ll keep on writing, being the poet of myself
until I resist with no help,
as long as the black abyss
arrives to consume me, again.

Neither the poetries maybe will be enough,
those imprecise writings engraved on the walls.

Inner bites seem be loosened,
it’s a pleasure sense.
Here I know at first blaze of light,
reality returns to show her evil might.
How much life I’ve to sacrifice,
to become alive.
How much life I’ve to sacrifice,
this is what I pray.
Pray.

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