ANAGRAM (97)

Living in a world
Where nothing comes out of suicide but death
What do you expect me to sell?

Dying in a world
Where all life brings is death
What do you want me to buy?

Don’t cry
It’s your tears
Your weakness
Your naïve sweetness
—what you call moderation—
That makes me sick in my stomach

Wipe you tear and look:
All you can sell is your life
For a very low price
And all you can buy is your death
For even a cheaper price