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My heart behaves like a spoiled soiled kind. A creature of awkward awareness that shut national rational behaviors down, drag them into a corner a mislead kinder. My heart has no free soul, is an arc lost in masochism perhaps. Is a muscle of a ballet dancer, an athlete in a confused lauded crowd or an atheist looking for his own faith. My heart behaves like a sinner all around you. It smiles like a serial killer draining your walls on his finger. My heart is just a silly child that find his own private garden in your eyes. A lake to wet its legs and rest in peace on a cloud of mind. – How would it taste the skin of your grins?