I'm tired Carlie,
This marriage is a waste,
You have pretty hair, and skin that shines
But I don't want to see your face

I dimmed the light in my mistress's dine
She had charged me with gold and time
I wanted her heart but alas
I realised that it wasn't mine.

I was wet darling,
The kind that bled rain from scents,

The end of March came as a bliss,
You were the chance I'd hardly miss

Little pottery pourie, naked in bed and soaked,
She realised on April first, she was the pretty joke.

And I asked her the fun and frugal
Who else hangs themselves on Christmas walls,
What do they wish to be an astronaut or a pie?
Would they breathe to live or to wake up and die

It is rhetoric in reply

I have stopped listening to people talk
I just wear my blue fine dress,
I have sunken eyes that see no dreams
I feel no love during ***,
I have a green bottle marked mumbo jumbo
I will not sail for zero dreams
Although very often with my bruised heart I wake up from naps,
I make art out of blood down my nose
Tap tap,
I have stopped smiling in photographs.

For love, my beloved I compose no more of these sullen sonnets,
I would stare into your corazon and eyes that symmetry mine;

My love, my Jupiter, my universe in thine palms,
Your shadow in my arms,
My old and bickering laugh
And your back that stifles the old shrine,
You would be the world's lost diadem,
And little of mine,
I would die and be reborn in thine arms till the end of time.

I ensambled five Mediterranean men in a vase,
I cut their limbs and the aura it spilled;

Limbless and lifeless they looked pretty in my vase,
I gathered them from the valleys in the south,
And chopped their heads off.