The sharp teeth anguish
similar to the dog in my last dream
who had grabbed my hand
is penetrating my body under my ribs,
the autumn turns her coat
the depth of the sea roars
from its mute lungs.

The sea weeds are looking horrified
from that place the light
is very difficult to reach,
cannot feel any caress,
cannot feel even the intense cold
and the breakings in my own body,
immobile in the ground.

The salt passes through their membranes
and gliding on the cheek,
never drying.
I tear them, I press them, I **** them.
That’s what I have to do. Only that.

To go by train to nowhere,
to lose yourself behind a hill's end
to go straight to the open horizon, till my feet are bleeding,
to be far-far away from the people training a smile on their false lips,
and to play ”I’m just all right”,
for all the ones waiting for my fall,
foams around their mouths, the larvae of the wickedness of their skulls, the taste behind your illusion,
never passing with a simple lemon slice kept in your mouth.

"But if you're not going to be happy?"
A friend was asking me
And I’m never able to answer him.