Crow Desk

I hid in the corner, huddled there, hugging myself tightly. Cry, cry, tears are like bombs or blades, falling on the hands and scratching the face. The world has always been silent, dark and silent. I am like a mime, stubborn and clumsy. I keep performing, shouting into the night, as if I want to cut open my chest and melt all my flesh and blood into the sky. How longing, how longing, I can give all my flesh and blood to one person.