they draw knife to the grief and throw razor to the hell
with rubbing their courage by the thinner
their stomachs are deserted and their dreams are blind
their pupils are a pair of dices shaken to the pain
they walk with suicide march
violence suckles their teazel existance
they are the discard of the life
their history is read welter of blood
their innocence has been engraved from their skins
their hopes has been overturned before sailing
desolateness birds settle on their shoulders
their necks are written italic in every language
