I ever wished so intensely
the coveted smell of voluptuousness
resting on lava stone trays,
while endless monstrosities
elapsed
of torments and agonies,
death dealers
and barbaric bustles
of ravenous hyenas.
Exile still mellowed
the sharp pain
that drop by drop
silenced the pale love,
filters of hatred and resentment
that my faltering resistance
crumbled into microscopic pieces,
already dust,
Heart dust
the shame of those who have not loved
once in life.
Two murders were committed.
