Lonely back, prosperous trap, flowers on the other side , The other side of the flower. What doesn't understand sadness and despair is the heart's motionless closure. The airtight wall. The bright green leaves of the ivy. It has become a dangerous ambush. The hazy sight. The smell of rosemary. The feasting. Who is who and who is wrong. Hesitation. Searching. ? Proud. Living up to existence. Overwhelmed. Looking blankly. Small hiding in the dark side. No light. No extravagant hope for hope. In the season when the grass grows and the orioles fly, I am a walking dead. Who made it perfect? It is torture. Tears are streaming down my face. Such a life , condemning his own depravity