Joining the names,
a nameless melancholia crosses a borderland,
between dreams and reality.
The stone face,
a mask,
some nothingness transcends the unhearing mind.
Tell me how much you know about yourself?
Moon shaped pleasures did not stir me,
not ever.
The hours of a dark day moved in pink fog,
my heart was bruised in a fall.
My infinite failures saw the inversed truth.
Yellow was the rage, fire.
A perpetual leap from emptiness.
The flames were movements, towards void.
The thoughts were circling over the flames.
Green windows open, shut, open.
My timeless affair with my self starts.
