there's little holes
in my skull
plucked on, one by one
like a beak peaked on
it, it is bleeding empty
of black hue of air
it is hurting lightly
of ants stinging there

so exhausting, so cold
a blanket wrapped me
in dread full of coals
the lines in it mocked me
servant of putrid-ness
that word does not exist
like my smile is evil'ed
still, listen and hear