“What a pity that you are not beautiful!”

In the smeared atmosphere, a pitchy brook, the street has started to sloop from under our feet.

A nest of oblivion was searching my heart while the darkness was gripping our sights.

An unexpected intermission in the middle of the sincerity’s show, within which, I’ve understood the matter coldness and the fever snuggled into the palms of that one, who was born with the vocation of moulding the loneliness.

When loneliness revolts itself,
When its disobedience is more powerful than of a stone’s in a raw state,
What does it matter the physical flaw, an insignificant detail of a whole of pain?

However, your intuition was playing with the essences much easily than the reason itself.
Therefore, when you have discovered it, the ugliness was been already compensated.
I wonder what kind of hereditary deficiency is really determining the human being to use the time for equilibrating balances.

You have understood, before me, that the eye, this skylight of soul, is more easily loosing its transparency when faces the beauty,
That the dissimulation is a conditioned reflex,
That the inner eye is able to create forms, independently, forms that are feeding the lungs and the heart.

Concerning me, I detest the joggles with the existential deeds, the adulterations.
An innate supporter of the authentic anguish,
I lugged out of me, same as you are lugging a stiff wild beast, the misgiving.
I handed it over to you.

However, the chisel gab, on which your hand was wavering, was coming in touch with my skin.
Within a graver silence than the death silence itself, the metamorphosis has begun.