You know for kind of a mental exercise I often think about if I get a spiritual ability to write even after the long death, what would that be? 

And Everytime the quantum obscurity tells me to write about suicides and three roads. 

Suicides of my megalomaniac sweethearts; 

the times they ran naked over floors, over bedsheets, over forests, over translucent skins. 

Dead breasts, dead waves, dead eyes, dead footsteps all over me…

Sweethearts you all have stolen my poems and went for surreal deaths. 

Okay now about three roads, 

one leading towards divine transparency, one towards poetic neverlands and the last one towards infinity. 

These discoloured senses…confusing and notorious, 

I want death for magical infinity. 

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