I want the
World to
Revolve around
Me

Talking about trash and vomitting i am staring at the ceiling with my dry mouth open
I slept at three and woke up at eleven
It was a sunny morning my roommate left at seven she left the curtain open and why did not she let the window break sometimes i think of jumping but standing on height makes me want to fall to bed and hide under the blanket
I don't want to bathe and eat breakfast but i kept snacking and i wish i were that sweet tooth i haven't washed the dishes and ****** and i am thinking of
Being in a plane
Heat struck and breaking the window the wind the clouds the pressure
I don't know if i am still afraid of heights
I have never been that high enough anyway like i am on the second floor it's never high enough i think of the high buildings in the capital city but i just love her too much
I will not
I will not
I will not let them read me in newspapers
I still think about methods to die but it does not make sense anymore like i want to have bullets on my head like jesus' crown but i don't want the cold thing in my mouth i don't want my head to be a blood fountain out of the blue
I am too drained even to think of running and jumping off a cliff like it's actually dumb and not pretty and i hear that we have so much to live
We have so much to live
I didn't have my breakfast
I am too okay to think this laziness as depression i cannot blame my brain it is too okay it is too okay i am too okay i shouldn't complain
Too much
Too much i complain too much

You grow flowers out of your corpse but all i want to be is to decay into plastic and harm the earth and it's true that such a sad world we live in
I am getting you back here
Sonja i am getting you back here

You are still me
You are still me
You are still me

Welcome home

i keep desperately wanting to be the person i am not. it's true.

i only want to be enough.

Don't you need more and more caffeine
after a cold sleepless night
where you ***** a glimpse of stars next morning

It's just that I stare at the red curtain too much
I mistaken it as a human
and begin to think that breathing through its fibers
is a form of socialization too

Sun, you come to me
and say I cannot be sprout
You do not shine
for me

It's the worst when you don't know
why you start to feel like crying in front of some strangers
and suddenly begin to cry after you spent a long long time not thinking
of tears at all
It's okay, I am okay
I am sorry that I cry
It's nothing, not anyone's fault,
please just put the blame on my tear glands

I wonder if I would survive at all
They say a lot, "be strong"
And I know that does mean
that I am weak

I take it for granted
Your brittle teeth
My hammer tongue
Jittery throat
Don't try to speak
You don't want me to listen
My ears are waxed with distortion

Hands off
You don't want to touch me
My skin is smeared on poison
Don't even gaze into my eyes
You won't find truth
In the eyes of a Gorgon

i have never hated silence before
i need to talk
i need to hear humans talking
to me
i need to hear the soft, not so high voice
simple words, light and easily understood
talk to me, let me hear your voice
so i know i am not alone
and that i can
go through this-
i have never hated silence before
actually i loved it
i did

you be the songs i
downloaded ilegally
and never listen.

do i ever have the time to?
i'm drowning in
oceans of music

i got to rip.

I am as sweet as
doomsday; ruined, crushed, bleak; full of
denials of deaths.

This is a strange heat of cloudy day in october where bathroom stalls are the only place they spread the love.

She wants rain. She covers her school bag with plastic so her books will not be soaked. She believes, soon, it will rain.

She becomes a boy when something inside her bleeds. It is a battle wound. It is what makes her beautiful. It is what makes her want to insert her fingers very slowly into your eyes.

She dies monthly; that is why we celebrate easter every month. The eggs also die, only not in a way you can understand. They cry in trash bin, right before a stray dog comes and carries them with its lovely teeth.

"I only want to kiss you like *******. Let's hold hand and be a cramp. We can hug like contraction or the way a womb would."

It will not rain. She begins to open her umbrellas. She has twenty seven in twelve different patterns.

"I think the dog loves me too."

She gives up. She says she will stay. This is the very bottom of her current lowest. Her eyelids are heavy as iron. They only become heavier and heavier.

"I think i can sing amazing grace."

But she never opens her mouth ever again. She cannot even brush her teeth. And when her jeans are stained with blood, she cries like a baby whose lips are sewn together with rose's thorns.

Her eyelids are now corroded. Glad she has counted all the sheeps. She is going to sleep. A long nap. A sweet, sweet dream. *A sweet, sweet dream.

O, glorious thing!
Let us do it gracefully --
*Take my warmth from me

Unlike the sea,
I stabbed by do re mi
Bleed until a la, a ti
A higher do on the bottom of a pond!

Unlike smoking,
Too much fascinated by fake kindness kills you
Hit by another train
I breathe strangers' death on the street, in front of a hospital
There, spiders, there, cockroaches
Rains hard, a cricket flood
Don't catcall me, I am scared!
Where's the rainbow?
I have fear of insects and sometimes people

Scream for me if you don't want me to
Cry for me if you don't want me to
Begin your episode if you want me to stop
I'll clap and clap and clap and clap
*I am a clown! A happy clown!

Sylvia save me
I don't really want to be
Ah! How you know me

Sylvia save me
Attraction of disaster
Natural insane

Sylvia save me
I'm starting to believe I
Won't suit for poetry

Through holes spotted on my veins you sound like a mad river, telling me only the things I can never accept, shoving your voice down, ripping, crushing my fragile tympani into a freezing blood rain. Hey, here's your umbrella, the same as all those black parachutes bloomed on the day your father had married for the second time, leaving you and your mother assuming he was dead, and yes, he was. He was dead in your heart with all your unforgiveness disguised as a strangely unconditional love, just like one of your old shirts your mother had sewed for you now hanging in front of your beautiful neck, tied into a noose, a fascinating noose I would like to die for.

I am singing you a song of the ringing dawn, a kind of song which probably would only be played on the last day of earth when there would be no regret waiting, a kind of song which would be forgotten forever after its first note; no more swaying on the edge of the cliff, no more waiting to be pushed down, no more begging for the oven to be turned on.

I want ocean, and there you are out of my reach.

She is natural
disaster; i have to be
deaf to hear her voice.

three notes
suffocate me to death
white curtains and windows
the sound is coming in
wind blowing as if pigeon post
drive me nuts
there is nothing
between the lines

heart thumping like heavy machinery
over and over and over and over and ov

that sweet husky voice of yours
while i come undone on the sheets
washing machine, detergent
i'm all gone

or is it just that
the wall and the head
really do love each other

My ears caught a group of marching bands playing on a moving train
Circling around, giving, taking breath to that ticking, that flame framed clock above the mirror

They always sound louder when you are not around --which means always
And loudest at 3:17 a.m. when I write you letters I can't ever send

Their rhythm never fit but I never missed even a heartbeat of mine
Because I wish, I wish yours'd one day join

And I thought I wish I were deaf
Just so I could refer those who wish they were deaf as arseholes

(It's been a long time of pretending
That I know about you --at least a thing)

I am always wrong and this poem is genuine

Really? Thanks for being there
even when I
cannot cling to you, even when I
am nowhere,
alone while having stomachaches
and trying to claim a heart
attack.

The thought of a cutter
making a hole
on my throat
is better
than you kissing me on the lips.

I tried to binge eat and forget
what you told
me to forget,
because I cannot
cut, I cannot lose any
more blood; I
don't think I
have enough.

Really? I kept you awake;
I keep you awake,
or asleep with tons of nightmares,
every single night even
when I
am gone, completely
gone.

Cold hands are yours
Nurture a dying thing called body

you exhaust me
in the morning
where sunlit  window is in
terrible           defense

empathy is      an open house
come on in,     patients
you've got       the front door
as sicknesses   seep to me

The blue is getting smaller
And the moon
Can no longer be pointed at
All I see
Is your finger
Fading with the air
And the flesh
Is all eaten by time
It shall fail
Along with the heart
As the bones
Composing weird music
But candy
To the ears
And the eyes
Can no longer see
And the mortal
Life shall cease
And the eternity
Can no longer be
Denied

For I once did see
Now I am blind
For I once was found
Now I am lost
O, how sweet the sound!
How precious did the grace appear
How precious did the grace appear
How precious did the grace appear

I am scattering
like light, like dandelions
minus glimpse of hope.

It was a different kind of aching
An aim blurring itself, left me sweating
Do you know where the firefighters went?
It all began in 1911
But that's the most I do know

Splitting images had never been my expertise
Remembering faces, I whirled as I had greedy desires of touching many different flames
Meet me again in the heart of the forest, would you?
You wouldn't, you wouldn't, you wouldn't
Said like a mantra but I had stopped believe in Gods since a long, long time ago
It was when we first met
When you became the only God I acknowledge

I started a cult and it's all about you
But I am not much different
From when I thought Jesus could have had saved me but actually couldn't
So I eventually left Him, so I left Him
I left Him like it was just an ordinary different kind of aching

worthless beautiful night sky
full of stars, red and blue
perfect lemon moon
so close

pink attire, purple face
optimistic words, dry tongue and pale lips
shadow in the dark
heavy

floral fabrics
ribbons for causes
statistics
heart, heart, heart

hollow

even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted*

to sylvia plath

dear sylvia softness i feel, firm in my bones
i stand like crooked smile my lips wear everyday
everyday, every day is madness to death, to resurrection and back to the start until you find something new
tender and kind i cannot talk, lump in my chest and head
fingernails are just as boring as eyelashes, they cannot be ugly
unless you are more than 'just sad'
i dream of a place full of rainbows and plants
dear sylvia
the smell of grass that casts darkness away
but actually it's ocean that makes the nights bearable
dear sylvia
dear sylvia saltiness made of quiet tearless cries
let's just let go
dear sylvia drown in the blue of the soul
accept the universe seeps to your flesh and drown
drown until there's nothing left to remember
dear sylvia
where the home is
that's where the home is

lend me a home,
or just a shoulder to lean on

is more than enough;
those two things
i can't do by myself,

no matter how badly
i try to believe:

for the heart is in my chest,
i am my own home;

for i already have two shoulders,
i won't be needing another.

but my head is too heavy
because of these sour clouds, my neck
might accidentally break.

Feeling like dying is so much like touching a girl's chest for the first time --- I tremble and don't know how to stop; I do not breathe but my lungs are doing fine.

When my hair was long, people told me to cut it. Now my hair is short, people are telling me to never have short hairstyle ever again.

I am too heavy I cannot be in high places. They cannot hold me. They would collapse. I am too heavy I cannot even move my legs. My feet are planted to the ground. I may well be a high place.

But buried alive I am.

I do not breathe but my lungs are doing fine. I cannot swim anymore. I do not have hands anymore. My stomach is a pool full of HCl. My stomach is tomatoes stomped by muddy boots. My stomach too large I do not wear it anymore.

In the morning I don't think of dying anymore. I do not think of it anymore. I am actually doing it. The dying thing.

I have wings like bats, I eat rats like bats. When I have no money in my wallet I can't sell myself because no one wants to buy me. I have legs like snakes, I eat rats like snakes. In a night like this I only want to be a tiny sea creature. It would be cold enough. It would be salty enough. It wouldn't be beautiful. Nothing beautiful fits to be perfect. I want perfect. I want flawless.

Good bye. I can't see you again. Someday when I hear your name it would always be the first time. Please just let me. Go.

you are so close
yet so far
i want to touch you
but i can't

i'm trained to love the rain
but the wind goes from here to where you are
i cannot handle this
it won't go back

didn't even try
i'm slowing down
it happens so fast
like the sky

Your loud breath
Cold hands
White eyes
Unseen groping
Peeling skin

The gold walls
Booming ticks
Volcano heart
Unnamed quakes
Crumbled skull

It is the song of the lost children. At night they come to your sleep. They can love you till you bleed. Just wait for it. You call them nightmares, horrible dreams, but you are their sweet one.

You are their bedtime story. Every single night. The same story being told over and over again. The exact same words. The exact same you. Keep being repeated. On their starry eyes at day. On their twinkling lips at night. On their meals and toilets.

You are their sweet dreams. That's why tooth fairy hates you.

Your loud breath
Cold hands
White eyes
Unseen groping
Peeling skin

It is the song of the lost children. At night they come to your sleep. You wake up yet they come again. They have always wanted to love you till you bleed.

The gold walls
Booming ticks
Volcano heart
Unnamed quakes
Crumbled skull

When you were six. They were the evil mothers crawling under the sofas. They made the air shift, softly whispered to your feet. They were the ones who made the screams.

Your loud breath
Cold hands
White eyes

When you were eleven. They were the gigantic spiders appeared from the toilet hole. They were the ones who ate your dad but didn't swallow that curly black hair of his.

Unseen groping
Peeling skin
The gold walls

When you were seventeen. They were the train wreck. They made your dad has to stop the car. It was too dangerous to move. Another crash was coming. And they were the ones who made your dad step on the wrong pedal.

Booming ticks
Volcano heart
Unnamed quakes

It is the song of the lost children. At night they come to your sleep. At day they are the invisible shackles around your ankles.

Crumbled skull
Crumbled skull
Your loud breath

Oh, I am sorry. It seems that the song doesn't really have an

Cold hands
White eyes
White eyes*

end ----

ii. Balloons

*Helium head
Neck as string
Flying hopes..
Higher, highest
It pops..

i want to bleed out all the sadness
until my ****** runs out of color
and becomes clear again

i want to scrub myself like a bathroom floor
hard and rough
until all the dirt comes off
so maybe, even just for a few days,
yeah maybe i could shine

or i shouldn't shower
wait for some weeks
won't even ****
i don't want my bathroom get *****
if i have to **** i will **** on my hands
and carefully put it in the trash bin
for my landlady's turkey to eat

how i wish i could just throw away
all these dishes
and not be found out

i want the time to stop so i can rest awhile
and not just procrastinate
i want to really rest
like an unpopular mountain, like an unknown lake
i want it to be very still and silent i can hear my own blood rushing

but what if i have diarrhea
and can't **** so neatly like i always did
what if it's been a week and it won't stop
and it won't even get me skinny

i'm so homesick i order a hainanese rice
i'm so homesick i don't want to not sleep even though it's the finals week
i'm so homesick i want to drop out of school
i'm so homesick everything becomes empty and hurts

i've been collecting empty beer cans because i don't want my landlady to tell my mother that i drink

i want to dry myself in the sun but
i can't
even get out of bed to turn
on the light
don't open the window and take a nap
it's the rainy season

I'll say these meaningless words
over and over and over again:
I love you
I love you
I love you

Even when I think of you as God;
I love you

Young blood, heated and dried
Dead head
You had crawled
Sickeningly sweet

I long for you
Funny duchess!
My Mary ---

Even though my tongue knows only clichés
and sometimes my tongue is too short
to speak human and the other times
my tongue is too long I think it
becomes python ---

I wish you were not dead;
Be here with me
You, omnipresent
I wish I could believe --

You wrote the bible with your own pretty hand --
Your ****** head (my sunrise)
Throbbing heart (still exists)
You have soul like universe
Objectified, scientified

How did you put it in?
And a nebula
Sickeningly sweet
I hope for no regret
Yet I am afraid

Of pureness -- your lethal-honest yellowness --
Spreads like **** pictures
Peanut butter on the bread in an easy morning

My, blonde thing!
Dark eyes, the nights
Spent crying
Why did you die, why did you die---

O why did you die?

Why did you die?

I am so young
Yet so strong
Strongly salty
Like the seawater
Strongly lazy
Like the wind

I am dull
As a knife I don't have worth
Even pen can stab but I cannot
I am the seawater; I am the wind
I don't need to explain my worth to you

Every morning I wake up with poetry
On the tip of my tongue
On every clip of my nail
My fallen hair
The dead cells on my bed
My greasy face

I open my eyes with poetry
This heart beats in poetry
These erythrocytes carry poetry
I breathe poetry
I live in poetry
I do not need words
Not all poetries are words
And that's enough

(1) i have no lungs because my stomach is as large as celestial body;

(2) i have no chest, therefore i don't have heart;

(3) only the ribs make me human & sternum keeps me sane;

(4) my cheeks are too round i've always thought i had no skull;

(5) but at night i'd hear it cracking & the pieces would become acnes on my face;

(6) i have no neck, only the pain that comes from the back;

(7) kidneys sure are something else, they only hurt when it's right.

this is not my ancient dream
i don't wanna be ok, momma
stray me in space, scatter me like stars
forget me
write me in an astronomy book
forget me
call me by a number
and it's never one, or two, or three

the only way i smell is like curry roux
it's past midnight and i want to go
home
it's never a place i can reach
not by foot, not by plane
i've run out of things to say
so i'll do it so i can speak louder

forget me
define me by homesickness
i fit in a box named silence
sometimes i think i'm a rabbit
white fur, red eyes
sometimes active, sometimes dead
either time the life isn't mine

it's easy to reach out for help
and there are open hands
hanging from the sky
powerless, full of themselves
not much space for me, never

i count them by color, they are all red

This sad scent on my fingers reminds me of the two kids I saw on the bridge. They were supposed to be selling peanuts and crackers, but they were playing with it instead. It reminded me of the photograph of a child ******* with a shabby barbie left on the ground. How cruel the world is. How come the government let this to happen? This must be stopped from happening. We must rise. Revolt. Unite. Yeah. Rise. Revolt. Unite.

"If there is not justice for the people, let there be no peace for the government." ~Emiliano Zapata

Lol no just kidding. Who cares about it. This sad scent on my fingers just reminds me of

you.

Daisy ate too much
She is afraid to *****
Toilet, please be nice!

My body sits there and I'll someday see it
clearly running out of darkness. It'll glow
though not blinding.

My body lies there and I'll someday have it
moving on its own. Balanced chemical
would never go wrong.

I'll dance in joy. I'll sing songs about spring.
Even though I know not a thing about
spring, I'll try. I know flowers and two
seasons. Aren't they enough?

If you are enough, so are they.

I tell my body to cut it off. My body in
cheesy arrogance, my body in self
righteousness, my body trying to fit in a
broken vase.

"I need water, I need water!" One cares not
about another. Does water need you?
Please stop being so possessive.

xix. but if i were to die by my own hands (my honest dying note would probably mention my uni life) would he turn a blind eye like he always does or would he erase me as if i was never there? i'll never know because i wont die just because i want to. i'll never know, of course, because i'll live and graduate and i'll be the one who forgets him, not vice versa

the only reason im here is to run away & i failed, so i keep seeking for ways to flee, i keep fighting my own shadow. why would anyone study their soul out just to get into the so called best uni in the country that is far away from their home, i wonder as well. my intention was not to study, i wanted to die. im breathing fine. sometimes i get too excited it's so uncomfortable & when i fall it's a dry and dusty abandoned well, you know that my vision stays in the ground. doesnt the soil look lovely, i wonder as well.

the only reason im here is because i am alive, i dont know why it is so obvious to other people yet it's an epiphany to me. i shouldnt be alive today. i shouldnt have survived 2014, let alone 2015 & 2016. it's almost may and now i start to think how nice it will be to be old and have more space for peace rather than keeping chaos as a pet.

this is embarrassing, sure, but sometimes i think i need to feel embarrassed. do you get what i mean, because i kinda dont. anyway, if this is something i can be proud of, i'll without any doubt brag to my parents and post it all over my social media. ive never liked bragging online, but if it's so good i'll think so hard of why not and still not get any good answer. it's a curse for vain people to get trapped inside a body with low self esteem. (fact)

maybe i made a mistake when i entered this uni. all i could think of was death, i didn't think i would be alive until halfway to graduation. now i dont worry about when i'll be able to die anymore, i just worry about when i'll be able to properly study just like the student i used to be. i just worry if i can graduate on time, i just worry if i can graduate with honor. how naive this kid is, i hope she remembers how she totally ruined her grades last semester. (no i dont mean thats the right pronoun i just go with the flow)

there is no flow, of course. why am i saying these things on a poetry website rather than on my rant blog, i wonder as well. i worry about the future & now all the pictures have me in them. i have many regrets about the past but they are a part of what makes me myself. (certainly not a claim that i have a clear sense of self) as for the present, i dont really like being here. i still feel like it will feel so great to not exist at all. but im breathing in anticipation. is it believable, my looking forward to the future, i wonder as well.

You are inside your
own stomach and i cannot
tell where---where it is

why does it touch you deeper
when i say what i write
is based on a true story?

here and now i use no capitalized word
here and now it's him i remember
for it's him who said:
"small letters are more humble"
you know, this is based on a true story;
i met him but not really
my longhands reached him
far, far away from here
surpassed lands and seas
o, how large is my country --
his equals plus one to my gmt
here foods are sweet and there are spicy
he hated and still hates the food here;
it reminds him of the tyrant
who'd only cared about
the west but not that west
and made the east poor and slaved --
he was one of those who
yelled reformation when i was
only nearly two

i am seventeen and so was he --
when i was born.
i love how thirteen connects
our birthdates;
mine is twelve and his fourteen
and i said to him thirteen was my
favorite number
and purple was my favorite color
for his was blue but
i thought of him as red --
red not of the lust but
red of the color of tomatoes --
his mother was a tomato seller
and since i had known that,
tomatoes began to taste sweeter
sweeter than ever

when i said i liked purple
i didn't know it was the color of
the rain,
his first love ever --
when he was just a kid
he wanted to marry her
but then he learnt at school
the rain is not a girl at all
not even alive
he couldn't marry her but
he still loves the rain
so i do too

you know,
i once was an anti-coffee
i used to drink only and only tea but
he loves coffee
so i do too
i once sent him
my favorite coffee along with
a ta-ta-for-now letter
and he replied to me electronically
with a stabbing sad emoticon
:(
it still stabs
but then he said
the coffee was good
and i smiled
but he didn't know it

do you know
what's better
than a cup of coffee in the morning?
"it's two cups of coffee"
he'd say something like that
so this morning i decided to
have a super sweet tea,
sugar so much it
almost tasted like soda --
every gulp was
painful
to my soul.
i almost found the
god in me if i had drank the second cup but
i made coffee instead
no sugar like i always had
not because i like bitterness
it's because every drop of coffee is him
and he is sweet enough already --
but i broke the rule of two
this morning i had
three cups of coffee
three cups of him
and it wrenched me --
la douleur exquise
-- the heart wrenching pain
of wanting someone you can't have

i don't even have a single autograph
of him
i hoped that he would write me letters
with that pretty handwriting of his
but at the same time
i was afraid that he wouldn't
so i sent him bunch
without an address to reply to --
you know, this is based on a true story;
he is a writer
but he doesn't really like
to be called a writer
because a writer will be jealous
of another great writer so
he calls himself a reader instead
and he embraces his thirst of great books
he is a librarian
he lives around the books
he lives for and from the books
he has three cats
and seems like he will
have more cats and more
like his mother,
his mother loves cats too
it's prophet muhammad's favorite pet
or so he said
on the radio

he is a poet
a broadcaster on a local radio
every friday and saturday
and at the end of the broadcast
he will read poems
sent by emails
even you can send your poem
but not all poems can be read
there are so many, you know
here we really love writing poetry
but few like reading it
like me
i read his poems
not because i loved reading poetry
it was because
it's his, it's him

but now
he has done what he should do
he has completed his role
he has made me believe in poetry
he saved me from the disbelief of poetry
he taught me that poetry
could heal
he said that writing poetry
is hugging
and reading it
is returning the
hug
he would read a lot of poems
when he is sick
and now
that's what i do too

he was the one who kept
my feet on the ground
every time i felt down
i sang silently a7x's m.i.a.
lend me your courage to stand up and fight
so he lent me his courage
so i could stand up and fight
and every time this life
felt so wrong, lacked meaning
i remembered his name
and a promise i promised
to him
on my own mind
"don't die before we meet"
yeah, i wouldn't die
i would never die

there was no other way for us
than being yinyang
and that's why i decided to
hate what he loves
he loves coffee
but i couldn't hate it
he loves poetry
but i couldn't hate it
he loves rain
but i couldn't hate it
he loves sylvia plath
but i couldn't hate sylvia
i can't ever hate sylvia
i can't stay away from his sylvia
i love her
and she loves me back
sylvia is my earth
and that's how i realize
he and i can't ever be --

you know, this is based on a true story;
because i say so.

So, what if i seek
Freedom? What if i want to
Leave what's "important"?

You cannot hear my cry
Not only because I am noisy yet voiceless

I am not a stream
Nothing that wells nor flows

But tonight I'll dream of an ocean
So vast it has its own milky way

I'll dream of the tides, and storms above
I'll dream of thunders and earth's wrath

Before sleep, stillness, it's I who keep it;
My mirror keeps humming a wraith

I won't go home, mother.
I don't have any.
And I'll only make you cry.
I'll only make you feel worthless.

I don't make you proud.
I can't love you enough.
I cannot love.
I'll only hurt you.

And most of the time
I don't care if I do.
And the other time
I care, and, that is why.

I look pale. Where's the blood?
They are scared. I knew it.
What gets better? They are all gone.
It's dusty. Fragile. Old thing.
We all want to leave the town. Admit it. Just like that.

from home to home,
i run away.

leaving behind
what i can't take.

greater than that,
i might break

pushing limits,
because, really, i've none.

just fair, the damage
won't be undone.

from home to home.
betraying trust,

collecting future
like butterflies.

growing lies
for a safe grave.

i ran away.
i forgot.

*
1. i shall put an end
2. to a tooth, two teeth
3. jeweled with pink
4.
5. a mouth is no more
6. than another tunnel
7.
8. the tongue is relaxed
9. and dry
0. go on, bite
1. as pain greets
2. and lives

I am a red poult
Fell from a height

I don't know how to fly
I don't know how to survive

Eaten alive by group of ants
I don't know it's called dying

It's ended by a girl's pity
That pretty red shoe stomped me to death