How long since I've written verse! And what little I do write turns to nothing but lies!
Born only to gather sorrows; the burning keeps growing... just as the wick runs low!
Drop by drop, the wounds of anguish I'm dissolving into four... can't you see it's two by two!
Once I went away on holiday— hunger dies away on just two pieces of bread!
Though I don't want to live still I go on living, close to the stars like a constellation.
I am dying... you stay well. This time, with all your heart, paint that dream!
I could no longer manage with these numb hands to scribble something, anything, on the page!
Let nothing come of me— but let something come of you, you'll fly like a bird, I'll watch with open eyes.