my eyes are blue
because i stare at the sky,
my nails are black
because empathy died.

lovers and serial killers
meet at midnight.
they take the risk
and rivive the moonlight.

the dynamic clouds
are higher than you think;
i open my arms
but i can't feel the breeze.

sadness is just war
my sword is made of plastic,
but i will fight with grace
and life will seem artistic.

white tiny butterflies
fly over our heads,
they teach us how to dream
and ignore the screams.