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You die most inside me
I drag your body everywhere I go
My crimson autumn
Which love could withstand its own storm
In my hands, a plural shadow bird
I walked without stepping on your name
Scratches accumulated on my forehead
I removed my mind from my name
I remained mindless
What can you do
We are human
Whatever we do, we are lacking
We are clocks set to death

You die most inside me
I ask
In which corner of the poetry papyrus did you scribble me?
From which gesture did you catch and swallow my eyes without chewing?
Your stuttering lines disrupt the memorized bird
To which winds did you sell your hair
You became the subject of my inverted sentences?
I wouldn't want to be the hero of the bad scenarios inside you
Look, my gathered disintegrations have scattered

You die most inside me
After all, absence is left as a hostage to the remaining
Whatever is left is silent in proportion to what has gone
And silence thins every wound
And silence becomes a way of looking
To everywhere you didn't go
Who is imprisoned by loneliness
Who is hidden within your secret
Tell me, where did you hide me
That's why I'm in so many streets now
You die most inside me
You fall mixed with snow on my wounds
You remain mixed in the madness tape
Whatever the sidewalks couldn't bear
Whatever you couldn't find is in the wake of great destructions
I owe you
In an unwritten poem

You die most inside me
My cheek burns on your cheek
In my palm, a poorly spelled poem remains
The barrel of your eyes turns, burns my eyelashes
The wind of a hill hums in my ear
I dive into love up to my throat
It's not enough. There's too much missing.
What's left from what's missing
You were a door closing inwards
I passed through your hair first
And from myself like that
I knew what I didn't have
I bent

I diminished
I melted
I didn't finish you
To which winds did you sell your hair
You couldn't hold on to its roar
However long a person lives by stealing breath from life
I lived your eyes like that
Pushing and shoving on my skin
Earthquakes in my pocket
Mysterious night rituals
Volcanic poems
Didn't I gently wear your words
Didn't I close the tirade of loneliness each time
It was you that loneliness described the most
Giving up giving up gave up
Tell me where I died in your hair
How many days would it take for a return journey?

You die most inside me
I drag your body everywhere I go
Did you enter from where my skin was torn
By pretending to open a door
You split me in two
Come on, you took my inside
Where did you leave me
Which one would you choose for me
And which one would you give up for yourself
I already pressed on my wound
I'm as young as my age
Your name passed quickly
Leaving hungry dogs behind
I passed from my memory
I passed from love songs that end quickly
Love was to leave you with a lot without subtracting anything
I knew

We chose an honorable darkness
Instead of a sycophantic light
And we passed as if crying from a story
Because we were brave
To the extent of driving ourselves out of our own dreams
We are two storytellers who turned their faces to life
The rest is nothingness
The rest is absence
What did loneliness tell other than you
I unraveled all the misconceptions of a life in your hair
Now from which side will you silence me
Silence is a language in silence
Plural silence
It's a compass
Now from which side will you vomit me
The shanty of my ruined city
You die most inside me
Most
You bury yourself in my eyes
I close my eyes
I write my will...