Yesterday I sent my litter to the stars
It look me years of saliva to stick up all the stamps
My tongue is scrapped although I know, it was in vain
I should just have to waved them hello
To share all the hope that tomorrow placed
Between the cries
We are all writers 
We are all painters
to, to, to not, to, to not bite my nails
To not hurt the fate [bad word] for my own pole star 
To dig an outlet
To wright my own, my personal horoscope
Each word
Each second
Has got the weight of thousand millions of sentences
I only wish that we live in the same painting
There are morning which fade at noon
There are some days that we forget when [bad word] An army of dead calendars buried with apathy
Down on my knees
In this fathomless bath
I feel
drowned