To dance to an idea of your worth,
you shall first hear the melody to your death.
A scream of false wonder, offered to the one sitting next to you,
as you glide down from the Italian mountains.
Behind the sunglasses, your eyes are closed.
Nothing is to be seen.
Nothing is to be seen with him.
Do you all remember?
Doomed with a heart of pineapple-colored rose petals,
t’s rumored that their own mother was left to her fate.
It was 48kg sister who stood in the moonlight
before the upper-class and the commanders,
telling them where their mother was not.
Mother was not at home.
48 kg sister remembers their silence,
although they stood with their index finger like compass needles.
48 kg sister was always North.
A diffuse grounding in reality turned into the skin on the chocolate milk,
watched with cold detachment.
