poem .

Climbing on your skin
Slowly
like I'm'm climbing on a holy mountain
My skin sets on fires
Thousands, millions, billions small sparkles
Tearing apart every part of my existence
It's more than me
It's more
It is.

The sky suddenly disappears
Becomes a cloud, a fog, a lie,
No!
This can not be true.
What is ?

Touch.
Smell.
Sense.