Who am I? Why am I here?
What is the truth about life, my dear...
Prompt: The year is 12023, you are writing your...
To Artists:
All great Artists...
edited
Maybe only music could rescue me in this heart...
This time,
can I be more direct...
I feel dead inside.
And thank goodness I write...
Later is solely
the perspective of wheel marks...
Thirsty for the truth
he didn't know how parlous is...
What am I to do when the gladiolus cannot stretch...
this vase of loneliness anymore...
We sculpt our idols on our own
from the stone we carve and chisel...
They were lifeless before they could meet,
like the ingredients in the ocean...
The road-end, flees like horizons
holding on to their distances...