You're like a sickness
that wear down my best moments,
your stink have impregnate my skin,
and I am not able to remove it on myself,
your eyes, your ears, your tongues sharp like razors,
I must be more quick, I pour forth rage on artificial skins,
yours would bleed and I don't want dirty myself,
I remain alone, corrosive tears,
stream down my face til break down, on ground,
with little fluid explosions,
and this head between my hands look a ball I wish to throw faraway dragging the rest of body with it.