Returning to bad days,
shadows meander surly
as my life runs amok.
Sot, I keep myself from being hunted,
deny I find pleasure in the rollercoaster-
ride, walk barefoot like a naive child.
Held by hands I cannot trust,
forcing me to put on boots covered
with mud and sperm, I become tearful.
At first sitting on a rock, yet fearless of death
I start to run on my hands over a burning pyre.
The glitter in stones ablaze.