the first hot red water circulated in my body
did not want to touch my brain for a while
now I am crippled
hundreds of people who appear in my day
widely scent, texture
their eyes grow on my body
our touch is instant
their fingers pointing, with their judgement stick on me
I put on fire my monstrous stewpan when I turn back home
by attaching the paper cutter to my shaking hands
grave you above me
like roasting under sun, scaring over
for refreshing a lot of time
we got so tired of being visible
is not it possible if you do not stare on me?
or if you allow to spit in you?