When I go to the devil,
when I am completely down
then I sorely fathom that
all hands of hope have withdrawn.

And the time will not come back...
Leaving a bitter solace...
As huge as the burning sun
which I try to embrace

Wish you could extinguish
my hell which I desire.
I miss you like Satan pines
for the eternal fire.

You see lurid reflections
in my poems as an art.
You can read me from my hands,
wish you could do from my heart...