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

“Dance”
His [the teacher's] words painted with Van...

My imagination is
the ribbon that delicately...

Assaulting this paper,
Forcing words upon...

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

I am grateful,
not [only] to be...

She laughs
Neglect within her voice...

Tell me Zebra,
Are you intimidated...

We are the hands of
perversion that spoil...

My hands;
Callused and bruised...

Red, yellow and orange
pastel colors engulf the world in September...

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