That time between evening and mourning,
it seems,
Is distantly focused,
like an unbalanced dream.

I love you,
I hate you,
Oh hell,
what to do?

My thoughts race,
my head hurts,
no need to worry,
just spasmatic touch thirsts.

Oh well,
A deep well,
at least the pain,
cannot swell.

Goodbye,
to no one,
a loving father,
and spoiled son.