Source1
I do not want to be ripped off. I lose my belief in love when I hear the ruthless cries of love. "No! Love, love is not like that, I have never seen such a book in any book I read, "I say," I do not read simple books. "
I do not read simple books. Violence can not be sheltered beside my lover in the books I read. I never accepted it, I could not understand this situation.
I'm running away from where I'm torn apart. To protect my own worn-out beliefs.
My love's dry leaves are falling from my steps.
Then the arrows of fear turn to me. To protect myself, I am angry at a corner, and am embracing my face in the palms of helpless, defenseless. Just like I did when I was a kid.
Compassion is disappearing, with compassion in my voice. Now the only sound I hear is a solid and cold grunt.
The dark blue sky full of hope, suddenly dirty with gray clouds. The birds find a place to shelter from the sky. Then the whistling winds, lightning, heavy rain. The earth is the apocalypse.
Source2
How can a carnation hurt?
It's cutting off your own leaves, so you do not get ripped apart. It's a dry branch that's left behind.
There is no compassion, no compassion, no fidelity. It's just a dry branch.
All the scorned carnations ...
