I went on my bike following the red thread.
Just like every other day, the one thing I ever had.
And so I went and the water next to me got so wavy.
And so dark, darker than darkest blue navy.

It won't cover me here cause there's no burning suffering.
When the red thread is covering my skin.
I can just keep on cycling.
Always singing.
About how I won't be ok.
It's not alright and it can never be fine.
Still this moment is always mine following the red line.

I went on my bike cycling and singing.
That is always ok.
So the burning will finally stop stinging.
Like every single day.

I love looking at the stars with you,
wondering which one are you.
Looking at them as am looking at you,
telling each one that I love you.

-Mila

on dollippingtin’s fragglies
in briffelsy puff-tuft
all blashtered and baggsie
a glumpting was shand-cuffed

his flumper was sump-yunned
and when flayed o’er the shill
she snatchered the snubly
and waxered the wheel

and roiling and foiling
the glumpting did skyle
over the pull-say
and into the schmile

he de-ployed a ghastling
when she tripped a scripe lie
and he sarrowed the fragile
when she squatched like a flie

the glumpting was bashered
and turned the gaze mis-erly
mounsied the snubly
and roiled back to briffelsy

the moggetty corpsy was
blotted and ratten
and burbeling and gurbling
it sniffed like a trash-pan

the flumper lain deadsy
was found by the doll-po
and the glumpting was sentaxed
to scorpse in the prisco

morale of the taile:

if bashtered yourselves be
do not waxer the wheel
do not be a ghastling
just be a hap still

in these trying times,

our houses locked and shuttered,

fear is the king.

micro has it over macro
unseen over seen
spirit over flesh
optimism over pessimism
life over death.