The awe
of wrinkles...

Everything is running,
seemingly towards somewhere...

If you kill the messenger
The message forever...

Where has the butterfly winged?
Where has the flower gone...

They choose gutless ones
for they could...

God is dead,
thus Zarathustra said...

To P&Q
Loneliness...

They do not give us ruler to draw the perfect...
We have to draw with our naked hands...

The penumbra of Illumination.
The echo of birds’ footsteps in silence...

You the killer of my father.
You the pain...

There was always me loving you
no past, no future...

Breeze,
the cool bed-sheet of white dreams...