I am nothing
A printed line on a pointing finger
Living in a net of painful virtue
Skin of a disease
Collected in a life of fabricated leather

I am nothing
A dirt inside of dirt
Agonised second of rebellious dream
A thought within thought

I am nothing
A well of empty words
A mountain of night
A sparrow
A touch

I am nothing
I am you

Raindrop hangs on dear bones
Sticking to its nails
Awing
Dawn to the clouds

Forging melodical tremble
Of
Good morning