(This netizen told me that she wanted to hit, saying that she wrote a little DARK, everyone see, is it true?)
What are our world?
A house, a farm, a home, a tree; a city, a sky, an early morning. A way of death. In this city, I can't see the scenery in the clouds, I can't hear the butterfly to break the sadness, and the heart is repeatedly swimming with the cherry blossoms and the mourning grievances when they fall. In an instant that opens Cola Rings, my mood suddenly became unusual and peaceful, I felt happiness in the Baby Baby. That kind of clear, happy, hole, everything, even naughty, happiness and peace.
Putting with a filament like a silky grief.
In an instant that opens Cola Rings, my mood suddenly became unusual and peaceful, I felt happiness in the Baby Baby. That kind of clear, happy, hole, everything, even naughty, happiness and peace.
Always do the same dream, the lake in the dream, I can't expect the fresh yellow wildflowers and the top of the head to the top. Everything is beautiful, I am buried by all this, I watched the lake and retired, and later covered with sunshine petals. In the face of it, I can only give silence, the sea is sad, the desert is the same. The only difference is the color of the sky, the color of the sky, which is not hitting my consciousness, as if it is saying: Hey, come back, there is not your world! Is it my world? Tell me, what is my world like, and what is your? The wind in the summer, suddenly cool, like autumn, there is no tears that are scattered in the water. In the sky, the sparrows chased, but did not perceive the dark clouds that gradually floated from the south. The banyan flowers opened, and the aroma of the roll was hung on the roof, and it was too long ...
Snow, white snow, rude, floating into the rain, falling into tears in the summer green leaves, chemical in the sea of contained land
Sea, sea, waves slightly, elegant
Shell, in the sand, record our secret
Sand, became a round pearl, embedded in the moon
Did you see that? Island, leisurely, contribute to the moon goddess in the night, blowing a long-listened song when the wind blows over, like ancient and solemn poems over the sky, climbing the branches, if there is a hidden, if the thoughts are in the sun How is the passionate of the babies that catch the little calling? Is this melancholy?
After the snow, the peach flower will open? The sun will warm? What do you say? The harvested seeds are still sleeping, the life of the end is quietly growing in the small red cap, listening to the worm, whisper: it is very big, don't be fascinated
Snow, smashing the twist, the moonlight sprinkles the stars, stopping in the cyan sky meteor, lighting up a moment of burning my thoughts, thinking into the ashes of the wind, what you see, rise, rise, rise Is that the sun, or the moon? ?
