Day sixteen.

If I looked in the windows while walking pass through. If I stared at the willows with my seven black truths. If my eyes were to see what belongs to your mind. If you'd like keep perceiving what lies on my back and your eyes will shine through the glass of my wine and the willows, the windows, the pillows, and your mouth.

Day eleven.

I first let a cat out of the bag, it scratched my eyes out and ordered me to go. To answer all the questions I had, will it all become clear?

Day nine.

Take the poison of your rage to lick your fingers when you turn the page. What I remember is what you know is right, in the city you see only lies.