A forest resting on my palm

Let meI want to fall into meI''ve become ignorant of myselfAs if my right hand chose to stayLast NovemberBefore he turned twoSo I was born eleven timesAnd I wasn''t completeMy left hand promisedTo compensate me for the lossBut she''s sensitive about timeShe threw me into a black clockSo I ran with its obsessive handsI got used to getting dizzy and wouldn''t stopFrom spinning like a possessed personHe''s like this...He who engineers his small universeHis fatigue finds comfort in reachingInfinityHe satisfies everyone and is not satisfiedEven my name has forgotten meHe seduced with his red dressOn a dark night, and her jealousy swallowed himI am no longer two homes...I am one homeA wandering idea without wingsAnd this whole sky is mine.