You are the sobbing struggle of a star as it decays to red and consumes its offspring.
You are in marriage inescapable and love unrequited.
You are a dormant desert shrimp, waiting for rain that never comes.
You are the blind father in a gallery of his child's paintings.
You are the rain that cries out as it tries to avoid the Earth.
You are a honeybee that has stung but wants to live.
You are in the rusted engine of an abandoned Charger.
You are a parasite that longs for independence.
You are within the soundless scream of a drowning man.
You are the black hole that does not want to want.
You are a book in a world without language.
You are a hermit in a panopticon.
You are the scream of a pacifist bullet.
You are a mind without agency.
You are the god of atheists.
You are a slave to freedom.
You are a fall without end.
You are a flame without fuel.
You are a nomad in chains.
You are a numb masochist.
You are ice on the sun.
You are nostalgia.
You are regret.
I know.
The weik of Mataiotés.