Peripheral things highlighted, provoking me to ask not, "what is real?".
Nerves fighted in clots of my blood vessel, in ankylosis of my spine, in atrophy of my muscle.
My two hands never ever told me so,
they picked up and put down,
they clapped they stretched out,
they touched they resisted,
and numb to tell,
to tell strength from absence,
to tell high-note laughter from cut-throat sigh.

Me a witness of intensified passion with fainting still,
I waited and waited,
invisible in a white moisture.

PS.这首则是最新今年写的 恩恩 去碎觉了