pain, an eternity as heartbreaking, as is the line in the palm ronduri around silence, as a wing of France, suddenly thousands of birds, as the noisy chaos that only you hear it, which only you step and that only you dress, echoing deaf and absurd, which gives tarcolae every morning, every night of your being, pain ... as quiet as a one eyelid open, but empty ... lost as a root dry when you put your hope, as a song without notes, as a version without words, pain ... as the rust on one side of the soul, as an endless chasm in which you want to reach the end, as the grief untold, forgotten lips parted, as a dry cloud of rain, pain ... Sharp as a move, to convert to nothingness, the spasm in the Rose Petal, a trail of mud on the word of love, the beginning of the end of means, pain ... always knew that the waiver as a cigarette stub rujat found under the bed, the scent of old on one pillow, like a hair knotted in sweat, pain ... as an empty cup that no you never fill, as an illusion from the shoe, like a speck of dust, like an envelope trundle through the pockets of all garments, neck pain ... like a strangled by hands last kiss ...
