pluie

Some people are butterflies. Through painful shots, they inject inks into their wings so colour will change continuously. From blue to violet. From violet to red, from red to green, from green to yellow. From yellow to magenta. The weakest ones die really young. The stronger ones continue to throw themselves against textured walls for long white years.

A butterfly lives inside my brain.

Its natural colour is aggressive violet. It feeds itself on my(succulent)madness.
Its wings shiver cunningly in absolute silence,while it stands completely still.

Fermina Daza listens to Yumeji's theme.