I am unable to utter my pains
And there is no one to hear.
I wake up from myself into a dream,
In the meeting hall of my dreams
A place where no one comes and goes
Where the weather is cold and grey
The winds transparent
No blackbirds circling in the mountains
Nor black crows whispering in spruces
The only moving thing
Is my painless soul in its white gown.
I hallucinates in my diurnal dream
Conjuring up a floral of images
That swim like fishes pursued by a shark.
I’m happy and sane, and has
No need to dream such dreams
Love myself as I am
Love you as you are
Love things as they are
I may fear death
Since I’m in love
But not the whims of fate
Nor the inflictions of time
Shall lay its bony hands
On the inflection of my destruction

The weather is grey outside
Opaque like the shell of a tortoise
The old, pale mask of death
And a fool’s stiff face

This world is the world
Possibly the best possible world
Ever conceived by our kind philosopher
Dwelling in the lush bush of reeds
It has one surface and zero genus
Nothing like a knot or singularity
Where you can get through and transform
It’s a cruel and hard-boiled world
In which my ragged skin
Is my rubbed language.

Life is different here
Difficult almost everywhere
In the underground labyrinth of miseries
I have many layers
For multiple ways in which to suffer
I dissect myself this way or that
To find the source of the pain
Then to make that layer of me not mine
To think it a grave fault of me
As the god or the world thus punishes me
My anguish is turned inward
Softly it envelopes my heart.

The ascending road is winding
The downward trip is assuring
As if guieded by a mischievous demon
I fumbled around and tumbled
At each turning in the intricate paths
Always walking to a darker realm