The paper burns with a certain melody;
she makes suicide an art...

I want to harvest all your misery
In a tiny glass bottle...

Silence.
Incognito? No...

Look at the sky!
Does this not bring amazement to your life...

Killed, perhaps, my experiences
Not stored away, but...

Curious inkblots
Could not compare to the lips of my shoes...

Death was just another
Piece of entertainment...

I wonder about the lovers
that never were...

My imagination is
the ribbon that delicately...

My hands;
Callused and bruised...

A picture
Portrays such serenity...

Assaulting this paper,
Forcing words upon...