In reflection of broken pieces of mirror, which are

drowning in quicksand , is the reflection of

His soul, into the wood under cherry trees.

He is in oblivion of the meanings in the winds.

just so found of strange luminaries and it's

shadows.. He would be rose if people were flowers

with thorns in the wild, slowly dying on

sweltering heat of sun: the abysmal.

Or maybe he is the one

who's suicidal. (Getting suicidal by harsh words, drugs and depression. He is a mess but he is the one I look for .

He is the one I look for.

It's always has been him.)