A female centaur, her long hair tussled by the wind, stands naked
in a dream. What do centaurs believe in? asks a disembodied voice. Concentration moving further and further out of reach. Effortlessly becoming addicted to whatever distraction is available, carelessly wasting our youth.

Black thoughts, black dreams, black poems springing from polluted minds. A scent of spring and smog fills the air- what a joy, to be a natural born denier on such a beautiful day. Please act as if you 're satisfied so we can finish this show. Disillusionment disguised into fake desire. Words wrapped in cruelty, when all we seek is a sign of tenderness, a hesitant expression of affection.

Pretend you're free, detached and indifferent, then weep in the dark, quietly so as not to wake the warm body sleeping next to you, alien skin barely touching your arm. You'll never know what lies behind the outer shell, because you'll never find the courage to ask. Now you have learned to shed your tears inwardly- now you're transformed into a vessel of flesh that's gradually filled up with salty water and diluted memories.