Having mistaken my bruised face for a sunset
With its bashful hues of yellow, purple, red
I went to touch it, for a moment
Then wished I'd touched the moon instead.

(I have a feeling like none other
A feeling which makes sense
When I raise my fist and cover
My body up with dents)

Beauty is somewhat subjective;
You cannot argue that.
I find this method most effective,
My body as a punching bag
Which never can fight back.