I crave,
for the norwegian woods
and the austere darkness of dawn,

for the anguish cracking your skin,
every time you try to smile.

your deep and shallow beings
merged into a chaotic ball
of disgust and tenderness,
excites me;

but I can only envision
a false memory of your touch
-electrifying as a death-like trance-

your dead eyes look right through my skull:
you shudder,

as you've uncovered the shadow of a dying woman,
and she indeed is,

the nihilistic lull of a catastrophe.