劍之舞

河那頭架著聳天的吊車，鷹架上罩著深綠色帷幔的建物
像桌上養了一年甫冒出頭的玉露小芽，嘲諷著落地窗前那營養不良的豬籠草時，
旁邊她的爪牙張開，裡面有餘下的幾丁質屍體。東風吹來。

七個小時的標準睡眠，
Ｒ翻過身，把綿被捲在身上，囈語著，
手伸往床邊，沒有任何人，每天早上最難過的時刻，

醒自狂風暴雨對岸的晴曬，懷著疑似醉酒的頭疼；
窗台前的植物兇猛地啃噬著夢境裡的自我，以致於
我忘了總是能在妳身邊嗅到的香味碎片。

It was a Sunday which you could've smelled it out after you broke the french window of your owns. I was awake from a deep sleep, which I rarely indulged myself into, where the lazy abyssal lies. I, you've known, as each other Sunday, had to ride to work, therefore I woke from the brave new world, didn't I. I'd been feeling sad about that Sunday till I've done the dishes in the kitchen of that company, which you could call that a break-time-room even I'd never feel a briefly mentally break till I typed these down. I turned on my poor amplifiers to offering some inspiring music to stimulate my spirit to fight for those works I'd been leaving for a period which as long as the period any of hers could've passed two or more menstrual badness to me, the one always suffers from all of those.

And so, that was Iron Maiden's Live in Rio in 2002. I am here to confess. I was extremely expecting The Trooper which can recall the memory of the time I've read The Noble Six Hundred when I was in the college and dreaming about the future with sort of literally educated pathetic mind which is, until now, an unprepared and inefficient one. For somehow a reason, which was concealed by my insidious thought indicating my new lovely fierce kitty represented that woman who can chant, paint, design or any talent that pass through your mind, I pulled some Ardbeg Whiskey into that cognac glass with sadness which I don't have any pure glass for embracing the peatiness Ardbeg has, and I was drinking it when Bruce Dickinson sang.

Ｒ到了公司，檢查一下週圍是否有任何異狀，
無誤之後，便重新設定了一次保全。
轉過身，在光敏電阻的設置下擾亂了原本的寂靜，卸下安全帽的擋風罩。