today, the sky looks at me with nerve ‧ it influences me to feel as if i were all that it is ‧ touched by ideas, i got into an eerie vibe ‧ …who's the sky's sun …who's the sky's moon‽ ‧ …could be my universe to be its muse ‽ ‧ in a wink, sky's canvas exposed the poetry I am ‧ i look at the sky, i see me sky looks at me, sees itself ‧ (who am i…‽) (both, together, asked at once)

  …when a painter, it breathes you in the black and white , it does this intentionally, for when someone will gaze at you to feel what it adores about you, — each methodology of any phase that hits with typical subtlety, just to can be identified on canvas the memory of a colorful laughter

there, where you're frenglishly afraid to get in, there is hidden the treasure you sought… ‧ it'll not try coming home to you, but it'll linger somewhere in the blue wing of the moon ‧ it'll stalk you to see if you give your soul to those who promised you the magic of paradise , instead of the one who'll follow you even in hell ‧ so be vigilant , — this, it isn't my confession but your frisson , plotted by one whose hell was made in heaven