The dawn has this texture
Of long endured pains
With perfume of silent dusks.

For how long will the wind venture
Between long forgotten remains,
With scent of violent dusks?

The rain has this arenaceous texture
When there aren't any eyes to cry,
The silence is a mild creature,
A friend if needed, but still a lie...

And the shadow blinded my senses.
My feelings on Procust's bed
My mind destroying fences
Of the uncouncious, of the dead.

The pain within me tear apart
The innocence and my heart
Into millions of serpents
Devouring each other,
Creating Chaos -

And many other
Molecules of poison
Are released in the air,
Despite my crying and dispair...

Have you tasted?
My weakness have this texture
Of salty vapors in the sky,
Or a peace of the black eye.

...and a perfume of a departed soul -
Somewhere, far from human senses.