The direction of your absence

Does there exist a direction with your absence? If it is not the scar of a long suffering… The complaint of the wind, crackings, howls. These evenings of storm come to attack us. Striking their sharpened blades our silences. In which we had intertwined. Drawing our petrol there. To love us in the nest soft of our sins. Made drunk of the adulterated alcohol of our excesses. Far from all, world, of this bad wind. Who had transported us beyond our prejudices. Giving up us in this immured passion. Going until the extreme of this line traced on the horizon. Where our lives would be nothing any more but insanity. Sinking in the storm of our shivers. Dripping venom in unison. Of these pearls of day dying on the sleep of our nights. Coffin where we finished. Having forgotten to give a heart to our lives. Used to have lost the blood of our hopes. Manufacturing the wandering of a long suffering. Scar giving the direction of your absence.