The Scream (1893) by Edvard Munch
He realized there...

No one stands for the truth anymore.
Coward’s necks are back to their turtle shells...

<<One should know of the illustrated book: "The...
They sounded so ostentatiously strong...

Tell me why flowers
do not last...

All the truth
is hidden in the moments of a bird silence...

Your unsheathed thorns and
my laceration are why...

Such a strange affair,
between here and there...

Life is a guitarist
who has never owned a guitar...

I breathe not just to live, but to undo
the shape this world has forged in bone and...

Clouds split where we touch,
Everlasting sprinkles shine...

Thus, whispered an hourglass in my ears:
No rock would ever survive the onslaught of time...

Stretching our branches
to the prospect horizons...