lonely nest surrounds the breathing hall,
sprouting prickles and torn apart,
uncertain it seems by eyes it won’t fall,
certain it seems by feelings it will bawl,
In this deepest heartless heart,
love is just an impetuous need,
like a masterpiece of lovely art,
seldom come and hard to feed,
In this deepest heartless heart,
the ones shall remain forever,
stay as sweet apples in the cart,
and worthy books in the drawer,
What’s with my heart?
a piece of unworthy medal,
deserves to be brutally cut,
and be thrown in the channel.
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