Decipher the Truth

    City of parallel lies with masks, twitches unheard an intrusion of insects into the skin the air is eerie. scratch the masks people, peel off the under skin to see blueberries hanging from your forehead. In the serene morphic undistilled waters, inhale the dewy poetry. The poetry that lies inside the innocuous flesh.

Beauty

    i peel off my orange skin, there is a black spot like the dust of an ebb. in the soils, i see mundane butterflies can beauty be insipid? so what about the moon? i know, you will say it has the insane spot. so, why do people sprinkle beauty? if beauty can be