In My Perilin, I have a cello, a piano, and a voice.


Visit me in My Perilin and lay on the Clean-cut luxuriant unbelivebly green grass beside me. Watch that infinite Ocean with me. Fly away with me over Orchid-tree tops.

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OH SUCH FAULT!
Such Rage, such need, such wish.
There seems to be no holding your greed back.
I can feel the butterfly's wings flicking my loungs.
The madness of that butterfly.
Dear, kill me here and now.
Replace the flicking with cutting and screaming pain.
A pain that really screams into me, killing that butterfly, how it annoys me.
Kill me for your own good, for my own good.
Butterfly is killing me
Knife is leaving me be
Motherly love has abandoned me
I want to feel those disgusting, warm 9 meter long rope sliding over my hands and arms, leaving them all wet and bloody.
Oh such my fault.

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Black centipedes make you vomit in a nightshell of you own embraced dusk.