Ask me to be nowhere and find the rains. 

Nights lied on the face of my wool-gatherings…between shadows. 

Trammels…even the words don’t taste the trammels within. 

I have seen some dead animals…on the verge of getting forgotten to the existence, 

and you say this voyage is all and truth. 

All naked ladies…all spine-tingling sex seems so blurred with salt waters. 

Candles and gghhh! gghhh! this sound against melody…

But it has been a ride, a drunk melancholia, a pumping vagina. 

There’s no glory in death.