The creation of food poems on the tip of her tongue

Don't twist me, it hurts.

"Don't twist me, it hurts." ...

You said, frowning slightly.

"Pain", a round half vomit,

Slip on the tip of the tongue.

One eye is talking,

Overflow of eyes

The secret of the heart spring.

dream

Spilled

Gauze net

"Where are you?"

"Let's go to hell," you said.