I dont see anyone crying anymore for the strangeness of the swallows, I dont see that anyones eyes cry for our loneliness, my eyes dont want to cry like the clouds of the old days, I start to feel
bad about myself, my body is rotten and I dont want to die, all
these shadows of my shadow are dead , because the old loneliness has taken the sun from here, my lips are the city of silence , my body is dead. A hand has come from the other side of the clouds, it has taken away my shadow, I am
starting to hate myself, my body is rotten and I dont want to die,
my pain doesnt come to me anymore, the cold dust of my body and repels it, the person whose voice reached the clouds is dead, but I remember his dumbness , my dried eye, I wish he knew that now is the good time to cry, I start to
hate myself, my body is rotten and my death I dont want
all the poems I read were the story of being alone , the story of going and going, the story of abandonment, the story of death, the story of hatred, being silenced, the story of being away from you, the story of being away from you, I am
starting to hate myself, my body is rotten and I dont want death.
