‘Hello, come on man open the door.’

I have always liked this kind of red lights…

My walls red…my drinks red…smokes all quivering in this red phenomena. 

I am the man lighting the last match stick of this ice injected planet…

and oh! What a red chaos it brings, 

I have written all my poems on blotting papers…you would find them inside this third drayer…

Or the first…or every one inch inside this paper thin walls. 

My friend with one leg and two pumping…singing…infuriating hearts, 

outside shouting for another raw heart to be eaten. 

Let’s just finish this ciggerate… and behold the moonless stars to live…to kiss…to dream….

my lady of a shimmering sun.  

‘Shit…it’s the poet’s world again…’