The Scream (1893) by Edvard Munch
He realized there...

No one stands for the truth anymore.
Coward’s necks are back to their turtle shells...

Tell me why flowers
do not last...

<<One should know of the illustrated book: "The...
They sounded so ostentatiously strong...

Your unsheathed thorns and
my laceration are why...

All the truth
is hidden in the moments of a bird silence...

Such a strange affair,
between here and there...

Clouds split where we touch,
Everlasting sprinkles shine...

Life is a guitarist
who has never owned a guitar...

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

Stretching our branches
to the prospect horizons...

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