1.
The seasons changed,
but he still kept wearing
his yellow sweater during
the hottest weather

He spoke in three languages,
but has only felt the word:
Melancholy,
and the joyous absence of it

He wondered who he would be
without his suffocating sweater,
and the word: Melancholy

2.
He never uttered the word father
for it was too heavy on his tongue,
as the heavy rain on a bleak morning  

His mother loved him dearly,
or ruined him and called it love

A man has fallen in love with him,
and he felt for the first time; the
warmth of equally returned love

His lover swallowed his heart, and
told him it was the final act of love

3.
After ten years of insomnia,
he stopped measuring happiness
based on how many nights he slept,
a funeral rose in his heart as he wept

He muttered the word:
Suffering,
as if it were
a prayer,
or a lullaby

4.
Drawing road maps on his flesh
was his only consolation,
he chose the color red
to find his missing path

Scars between his thighs
as hidden treasures—
Centuries deep away from
people’s piercing gaze

5.
His new beloved was
shaped as a knife
They embraced
for the last time,
and the gushing blood
was his final act of love