When I’m alone, it takes a lot of love. I tell myself that I’m pulling away, in the place unknown, in the great unknown, behind. I'm default to felt guilty, to be good, to be clever, to be wise, to be patient, to despair for retracing scars. Regardless, I need something to keep me wanting to wake up. I had to catch myself, even if heaven waits for me and the salvation is mine. This becomes too difficult to deny that I have made an effort to describe a feeling which has tortured me often enough; I revenge myself on it. And from the dregs of life hope to receive what the first happiness running could not give. Life has shrunk to dregs and rancour; the world is unclean. Calm, calm!! I demolished my-self to breathe until I gasped. It’s warm, artistic, strong and beautiful until all of me is gone.

We discover that we are the victims of poisoning, but we have grown used to it. How can we give it up without giving up ourselves? We all suspend it and pretend until our touch is explosion.