glasses of plastic roses with almost real leaves
u think ' people '
then laugh mirthless
my gloved hands
not a doctor's assurance;
a measure of death
small holes : your nose
gulp!
tasteless liquid
all squalor
ground heart burnt in a furnace
chinese cooking style
waver and demean
all those golden moments
of smiles
uphold; my pearly tinky tears
juice of a worn out soul.
my! my! dear.. how are you?
is everything okay?
they scream.
d silence of my happy pain
slobbing away like washed out soap
nails that bore destinies
pinch the soft flesh of a pink palm
a little more of pain please
a little more slashing black hearts
repetition
collaboration
a time
a time
whence no one will wince
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