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...

You were digging deep
for flaws in me yet you...

Before the game of gamble, starts
it is already paid for...

When I write something
I make sure that I'm written...

Whatever starts must
also end. Whatever ends...

Who is vandalizing this bench
in the garden of my thoughts, my heartfelt words...

In the rainbow boxes of preference,
they each are...

My father's anniversary:
((there was a swan pond in our way to the hospital...