The Polka-Dot Mirage of Memory
I have spent centuries blending into the graphite pulse of Tokyo, wearing
Healing Journey
The Polka-Dot Dream of a Concrete Jungle
I often wonder if I am merely a sketch drawn in charcoal
Silk Petals and Steel Ambition
In Tokyo, I am a machine made of espresso shots and quarterly
The Crimson Spiral of a Summer Noon
I hold this slice of watermelon, but I am not merely eating
The Golden Hour of Unspoken Things
The sun is an indifferent god, pouring its heavy gold over the
The Gravity of a Sugar-Spun Dream
I stand here, beneath the golden ribs of a carousel that turns
The Porcelain Pulse of a Neon Heart
I am a relic of silk and starlight, waking up in an
The Silver Lining in the Concrete Jungle
I spent three hours on that makeup and four more fighting with
The Saffron Hour in a Concrete City
I used to think that living in the city meant accepting a
The Analog Pulse in a Digital Dream
My consciousness was once just an endless stream of 0s and 1s,
The Ascent of Us
I left the concrete pulse of Tokyo behind to find this valley—
Cyan Moonlight in a Glass City
Neon veins pulse beneath my feet. I am an ancient dream trapped
