Without a Trace of Regret (a poem)

Why do you run from the fire?
Rose the roar outside the house
Felt the cold moon into her blue arms
Her fire is bright and iron
Light the night with her rage
Spread my tears on the covers
Proud of my blackened speech
Smolder without a trace of regret

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The Dream of Ire (a poem)

Why do you insist on killing me?
Something in my hand to demise
And a gloomy spider-web inside me
To make this loss more attractive
Softly went the scream of a flow
Clung to it like an end of winter
And the bitter taste on my tongue
The heroin needle in my arm
Shone with the dream of ire