Women Gropped Bus Train

drawing by me: "Cry" a cartoon series called "Mutilation"




* This is a poem rescued from a series of poems to which I called "The Seasons":




TENDERNESS OF THE DEAD BUTTERFLY




Along with spring she can be seen on the floor dead
with colorful wings,
the same as the wind be responsible for removing.
In the lines of a dead butterfly

I can read the confessions that I save time in heavenly signs within it rose
and played before saying goodbye. Poor you

not colorful garden of my eyes poor

miss you already
without ever seeing you (live) faded butterfly

you fell to the ground as a tear wound

some surreal eye and melancholy
Will you have fallen from my eyes?
Maybe that's why I generate
and so sad I cry, instead of salt:
dead butterflies.






chewing daisies pure hatred ...






"What for others is tenderness for me is ill beneficial"
(LG)









Charlie.
.
.