What do you hear?
The wind is near,
And hugging all your skin.
What do you see?
Or is it me,
The one who stays indefinitely.
What do you taste?
It’s such a waste
To wait for things inside your mouth.
What do you smell?
It’s all unwell,
As if the world has rotten south.
What do you feel?
Inside my peel,
There’s nothing much left.