Forgotten, dreamer

There is less promise in the nightmare.

When is there some care left, and the end of the dark days is not solved.

A little loneliness is tied to the cockroach, and it is as light as a white soup noodles.

The mixed eyes are long gone, and they are determined to be crazy. Can't see through.

Dreamer, firm support, soft eyes, hands stretched out, all familiar

The eyes of my dreams are pulling my heart and licking the thorns.

But the man, walking and disappearing, never came back.

The third day: a gust of wind disappeared