fog

butterfly wings are gone, dark-coal mirrors offer a cliff to memories

a narrow corridor shows a roller coaster full of pain and whispers,

blood and smoke swirl around everywhere

light doesn't show in this world of dead branches, and the idea of beauty is not even conceivable

at least in the last nine thousand lives

there is fog in the valley of sun again, animals don't even dare to come close to me

i can't blame them...


i don't even know how to hold a bleeding heart on my hand without looking the other way