Dear ghost,
Here in the city, I am losing all my dreams. let me not sleep with dead dreams under my pillow.
It's these flippant notes and those twinkling eyes that scribbles my painting. Its my fragile will that cannot draw this empty page.
Will any creature treasure the quivering worth of mine? Tread, all at the expense of being a burden. Shameless. The answer is ever so warped in a conundrum. My thirsty fantôme répondez s'il-vous-plaît. Visit my tender dreams and gift me a glow worm. So that I write no err in my life again.
Aestheticism and art shall never weave into a canvas. First you must tiringly purchase the string and bind them into your dreams. I do not have the means to hunt anymore. I just want to get lost in the wild mystery of the forest
Yours