In a lost dream, where we met
without names nor faces to remember
Upon the sky of the bleak November,
He once sang a string of woe;
dedicated to the sisters and brothers lost
In the letters of life and death

In a lost dream,
he once incinerated hope
And in a lost dream,
he burnt all the upside-down
lifelong scripts
Of terrors and fears commanded him,
of humble requests and humble oppression
To demolish the dreamland he has built
upon broken wishes and poisoned passion

“I will be here,”
Refused he
“In a lost dream where I used to dance.”

(A Sequel to The Corpses Have Hearts to Speak)

Let me start my tell-tale long,
Or should I say my paintings old
Of question marks scribbled
With some words mingling in my specter—

The unseen are the most visible things;
they exist for what we believe
what we fear,
and reasons we never die to seek;
they drench, torment
and foreshadow time
as we slowly unveil
the skin we dangle in;

Let us see inside our own first—
Using a fatal mirror we loaned
Do you know who you are?
Do you do what you do?
Do you love what you are
and what you love?

What is it, that you love?

Aye, after the long journey
Of fragranced fragments I knitted myself
I will recite what I have known of myself;

I am the irony of the fragile lies
I am the thought of every sordid heart
I am none yet I am whole;
don’t call me demon,
for I am not angel

But back to the realmity
Call it, darling, my story perhaps
Realm of reality—
Within the shades of the eternal fifth day;

In a room full of world
I find a young soul crouching,

Loved yet unloved—
Beautiful yet ruined and ******—
Wrenching my unbeating
Blackdusted heart

So I say to my ethereal self;

I am no more—
Yet how can I feel
That she is full of life
Yet dead beneath?

Make it clear,
I desire life for twice
She is hellbound to death
She would torment life
For the smile of old grey death

Oh,
and I would abandon my last daydream dear
For ungrateful loves long ago;

Is life, so underrated?
Is life, not so precious?
Is life, stop—
Do life, just stay still without a change?
Is life, a constant darling named Constance?

Oh,
such joy it is to live
and laugh?

Oh,
such joy it is,
To see what my ethereal self
Can never grasp
Ever again

Of love,
separated between world
Self—Regret
And constance

(A Sequel to The Corpses Have Hearts to Speak)

Long have I waited
To be resurrected
Cleansed, to be
Undamned

My eyes are sore
With dust desires
To see the colors I have seen
For I know that I can
Never step upright back

To the world
Of clinching steps
Where my windshields weeping
Is regarded as the omens of romance

See my heart,
It is clouded by skull silk
It is caged by casket
It is as the way it was not

My remains and my days passed
Might never gain back
The state and pieces I was in
Full of pride—
Empty of soaring sympathy

And gratefulness, I threw away is
Now just a simple decay dance
Now just a simple foul fool
Now just skinfingers mingling upon lovebones

The dangled toes and soundless threads
Could only boast ethereal sweats on top
Of our dead lungs
Revived by revolting revolver of tears that passed

Do you not feel sorry,
For our dull presence?
Living without our warmth,
As we live without a light,
Except those of the angels?

And up above from Heaven’s throne
A gospel rule was set for our liberty
And we are allowed to break free
Not long after

Only when the days break on the fifth
Only before the stars shade on the darkness
Of the sixth
I shall exist
As bound white shadows before your dull chamber