Debut by the end

looking at the clock

it's been a long time that I

waited for you

living all your waste of promises at the gate

In a theater the act turns to illusion

The writer of this monologue offers

us a black book

and an heavy crown supported without a proof of

honesty

The grass still grow over

a worthless garden

where it's never pouring water

Photosentesis of sickness

Roses can't grow out of sand

We don't hear the wind singing on

the edge of a broken glass anymore

the pieces have been fixed

Blood fill the crack and heal like cement

call intention to a sentense without period

Asleep during a bird's final take off

his colored skin turned

cold too early

Stop hating me,

and set me free

I'm breaking

under your sky

I'm the cloud in your eyes

Anger rainsing from me

Your god can't see what a farewell can be