The bird,
an agitation...

First you were just an itching indentation
and I was a swollen pain...

Everything is so awful
and bad...

Silver bullet kills
the wolf in us, silver moon...

Are the trees just acting out their loneliness,
their separation from the fire...

When all the bubbles burst,
in far-off islands...

It is not faith
that casts the spell...

Look
how inflated I am...

There is a desert between our lips
that cannot be satiated by all the mirages of...

When we are unequal we lose one another,
we lose our butterfly...

War begins
the moment...

Where everything is versified to be uttered
and sublime is not external and pretended...