Prologue
I live where color forgets its confidence,
where red turns to sigh,
and graphite rehearses forgiveness.

Body I
The world leans left in sympathy.
Light hesitates on my snout,
as if deciding whether to stay.
I carry dusk under my skin,
and each contour hums a lullaby in reverse.
Brown dust settles like an old secret—
it knows what I used to be before paper.

Body II
No one draws silence, yet here it is:
wrapped around me like unfinished thought.
My breath circles back, erasing itself gently.
In this weather, time walks on tiptoe.
Sometimes I remember the word oink
and it sounds like a door half open.

DADA-Break
oink — ink — in — nk —
oi…nk… hush.

Closing
I stay between pink and graphite,
where every shade feels like thinking.
Tomorrow, I’ll fade one layer closer to peace.