Empty Streets

When the midnight opens like a preamble
and clock highlights three,
words take the shape of water
and keep raining from unveiled vessel.

That's when sorrow finds a home
in breathing corpses,
and wounds cut themselves open in
dark vicinities and free verses.

In the darkness that follows at this hour
pain howls and hurt screams through
a soul that reeks of arsenal blood
and unheard voice.

A scene she tries to put in oblivion,
a sin she fears to paint in vermilion,

When she walked on empty streets alone
trying to liberate her wounds
from the hands of salt,
but soon she was caught by an assault.