2013

The dead crater is the silent witness of our exaggeration.
Count the pins backwards from their ribcage.
Where did I misplace my sanity?
The white sand, your dignity.
These thorns are bugging her brainless head.
Lullaby.
Death sentence.
Vineyard in the middle of drylands.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
3,
2,
1,
Boom, as you fists the empty air.
Glimmering eyes.
Permanent paintings just came to life.
We are the lions, and the monstrous vultures.
We feast on our lives.
Our nest.
Our soul.