When I unbuttoned the third button of my shirt
The bruise under the collarbone has long since faded
But the coolness of scissors
Always hanging three inches from the tip of the hair
Mother's curses grow into feathers
Cover all my school uniforms
Father measured with a belt
The distance from skirt to shame
I was eight years old that year
creature in the mirror
Neither can fly
I can't learn the correct walking posture
Now I'm in a coffee cup
Salvage your own reflection
suddenly taste
The smell of iron windows that prevented people from jumping off buildings in childhood
Purpose: record