you have countless bullets, and
you don't need to shoot.
Countless times I think of the scene at the end of the heroine,
crying while handjob.
I can imagine what you look like.
The lonely sharpshooter faces the colorful cold air,
the moment when the bullet leaves the ballistic trajectory,
who is the muse that emerges in front of your eyes.
She's under the dark water,
her hair is like sapphire blue seaweed,
and every pore on her blue-grey skin is waiting for you,
just waiting for you to launch a jet to take her off.
leave the world.
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