The Scream (1893) by Edvard Munch
He realized there...
All the truth
is hidden in the moments of a bird silence...
Your unsheathed thorns and
my laceration are why...
Clouds split where we touch,
Everlasting sprinkles shine...
Life is a guitarist
who has never owned a guitar...
Thus, whispered an hourglass in my ears:
No rock would ever survive the onslaught of time...
Before the game of gamble, starts
it is already paid for...
My father's anniversary:
((there was a swan pond in our way to the hospital...
Whatever starts must
also end. Whatever ends...
Stretching our branches
to the prospect horizons...
You were digging deep
for flaws in me yet you...
When I write something
I make sure that I'm written...