WITHOUT A TITLE

Full moon was negating the intensity of night.
I wanted the sacred smell of dark heaven
which was dispensing the forgiveness.
Did not reach the dazzling height of a star;
even conflicts gave me immense metaphors.
Nemesis was measuring the hauled-up mistakes
For them I was tormented by unknown fears
and the ravings were useless.
Deliberately I cleaned my room twice
to welcome the instincts.
Even the particulars have become painful.
What do you think, can we follow the poem
without a title?
The neighbourhood cracks silently
I am not going to flaunt my lesions.