... hence envision crossed my brains
while i'm not sure about my blood veins.
I take a look to these cutting nails and cigarettes
among the yolk leftovers of the other days.
Well, it seems that my pale tiles means enough
- compared to my lack of life.
Now, I'm feeling like cracking up
dazzling around to conceive all these crappy old stuffs.
People say that "life is not right, life is tough”
and, then, they are all cheating on my back:
“I wish you good luck and hope”
but they don't know what I've been through - so fuck!
That's why I decided to be dead
and I'll do that without harm, without blood.
But, firstly, I will clean this mess of mine
and finish it with a lonely note:
"I did not have hope but a rope"