I tell the stars they all are dead
As love is dead in me,
They blink to say that being mad —
Is all that I can be.
I tell my mum the world is bad
And all is cold in it:
Her skinny hand; my empty bed;
The light that stars emit.
I tell my friend I want to die
To watch my life again,
He utters, “Man, you have no right
To cause your mother pain.”
I tell myself this is the last
Untitled verse I write,
Devoted merely to the dust
My love became last night.
Bramphature 