My poem is covered, looks like an umbrella

winter morning

Open your eyes in the morning

i'm looking for

The knife that won't rust

It descends from the mountain of memory and penetrates the sky

threatens everyone I think of

female model

They are the most beautiful in the crowd

It must be the same in other people

They carry their high heels uphill and downhill

Stand up when necessary and turn into a pink umbrella.

The crowd's taste, appreciation of their behavior

Only in the moment of waiting,

Will be like the Red Sea to actively separate,

Pretend to believe in their beauty.

And most of the time, they just walk

Walk silently, and all beautiful things

Be beautiful together, or suffer together.

that woman

Whenever I re-harvest the hatred of the world

I will be willing to admit that I am a girl

And most of the time, I imagine the world's

Tender and ordinary, I imagine myself, or

When I think of myself, it's already that woman