A wound in a mist

You shot me with your words

In fury, syllables sounded like fists

No soft breathing in my ear

Just a loud scream inside me

And the floorboards screaking.

You cut me down with cold clamors

Felt like a lorn scattered flower

In a bleak field, with a beast and a man

And a coffin in my heart.

Ô sun – pansophic sphere – bleeding

While my body hustles and tumbles

At sunset, the soul falling

On the haunting evil’s bird whistle.

But my mouth make no moan

No, it only keeps singing on & on

For the ruinous to lit up the bruised sky.

Ô moon – like a wound in the mist

Irradiate the heath and sing with me

The bullets are my own lines

To exist