The true motions of emotions,
deep scratches of commotion...

It was not a glass menagerie of thorns
it was a a flower house...

My take on Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's master...
I was from the nature of light and transparency...

Like a bird in the cage
of a unceasing movie of fly...

Their gifting spirits
live on in their absence...

This makes no sense.
What is this sound...

All my innocence
couldn't wow a wolf out of...

There is just one message
and everything else is...

O my beautiful butterfly
you are not so beautiful after all...

Smile in the mirror with all your cries,
all your tender spots, raw...

Look how the moth swapped
its withered yellow wings with...

Our countenances—
nothing but impressions...