The low empty sky seems it's about to cry.
Without nothing to do, I killed time.
As I swallowed my thoughts,
I spit a mixture of saliva and agitation on the sidewalk.
I fear at the thought of tomorrow,
worrying that everything might fall apart.
I know that looking ahead
to the day after tomorrow won't give me an answer.
What should I draw on an expanding white tomorrow?
What should I draw on the black tomorrow stained by reality?
I struggle to shine.
...
I badly draw myself
in a short amount of time.
I guess that's okay for now.
