Have you heard my story?
I know, I'm a stranger to you, but please read my book. Books were made for strangers.
The knowledge lays in his pages, pale ink, dry sweat, tears, mascara, and strange stories.
Most of my dramas were written beneath the actual ink.
I was that invisible girl, a girl that insanity adopted. She became a mortar for many.
I wish life understood my handwriting, my gestures. My pulse ceased, and my recollections fade.
A single stab in my neck, a new spring of blood, a silent scream. The same pencil that created poetry gave birth to death.
He asked for more.
Have you heard my story? Maybe no.

artwork by Jian Guo.