It consumes everyone's laughter,
even the melodies of joyous music...

I fear
the shafts of dawn...

You stroke the spine
of my iceberg...

Burn my soul in silence;
watch me glint...

I write
to deaden the traffic...

Kill me in a poem you inspire,
let me write you in my pen...

Colors dripped on the surface
like goosebumps on tender skin...

She had a face of salt,
her features were fading away...

I will no longer write aloud.
This will be my last suicide...

Can one emerge so bold
from a fragile cocoon...

It was a clear morning outside the yellow kitchen
when the grey weather foreboded mischief...

A cold shoulder and impassive face.
You were in some dry northern town...