Words like waterdrops, bittersweet tortures Dancing silhouettes, blurred sculptures Empty of pathos and emphasis Beyond the draperies of phrases White orchids, set into vacillation Melt like wax under irradiation A frail fly in the ear becomes a swarm Pouring into the mind akin to a storm I can't listen to voices anymore A flood of drops hammering on thought area Burrow a hollow into the idea Remanent are wide even lakes Expanding circles the next drop creates I can't listen to voices anymore