I’m allergic to this world
I’m allergic to this world
Where should I paint?
On the Moon?
Blinded by the sun and its heat
Make my hands melt.
The shadow will petrify my hands.
I’m allergic to this world.
Where should I paint?
On Mars?
The distance shrivels up with homesickness.
The Red Planet discolors my canvas too much.
The sandstorm makes my paint crack.
The atmosphere would suffocate me.
I’m allergic to this world.
