to THINE Own Self be TRUE

今天，十三號星期五。
是你的生日不再像從前，朋友不再因為辦趴重而相聚。

累了；

我知道，牠正在擴張，版圖。

神經元，
分枝再分枝它無限制的繁衍能力、
不斷蔓延再蔓延它數不清的觸角，
只為了觸及並掌控全部周邊神經。
侵占了大腦中樞，先發制人的在杏仁葉駐站，
時而不時，喜好般的激活不再屬於我的軀殼；

Faith、Hope、Love；這是我的桌布。

按下連續播放。一個人，坐在地板，雙手環抱著自己。

腦中沒有任何想法，任憑歌詞一句句的串流；附著在無數腦細胞上，吸收。

For all the poems written on the subject of unrequited love, there are so few on the pain of being the object of that affection.
The truth is...
It's not love on which the strongest foundations are built.
It's the decency of merciful lies.

I can not bet this is precise veracity, but it jumped out of my mind on this date which is cruel specially to me. Even though except me, no one would remember why it was so different of my life. I wrote it because I've known clearly that who turned back first wouldn't remember all of these small particular......

Always on this date, something bad have always happened on this date.

Like it meants to bedevour and destroy all my soul on this number, 1111.